News

Bad news comes on beautiful days

when the sun is kissing your cheek

and the old man on the floor

says you have a beautiful smile

though you have nothing to give him.

 

The news trickles in like the single ant on your bare foot.

It is almost always invisible

existing only in your blind spots

so that you have to listen closely to the words of others-

the prophets who whisper the news or slide it under your door.

 

They say that bad news comes with good news.

 

It comes with the mundane-

mixes in with heartbreak and regrets you’ve long misplaced

It comes with euphoria-

when your body feels like the air that you breathe.

 

Bad news is good news.

 

It is wake up calls,

life and death,

everything and nothing at once.

 

It is freedom and the slow but steady beating of your heart.

3 AM

I heard a barking at 3 AM
as the sun rose in my dream
soft but loud
like the humming of the television show we fell asleep to.

I heard a barking at 3 AM
It was hard and sharp
and the dogs bared their teeth to me-
a warning of something dangerous and sacred to come.

I heard a barking at 3 AM
felt something cold and wet on my face
like a thousand dogs waking me from my deep slumber
or the rain seeping through the ceiling we never fixed.

And the barking at 3 AM never stops
even as I toss and turn or wrap my leg around yours.

When I awake and you kiss the soft wetness off my face
I can't tell if that something is coming or going or already there watching us sleep.

I've Got Eras

I've got eras streaming out of my fingertips
music born from the womb of my ancestors-
words we've lost in wars.

I've eaten my mother's old 45's
put on clothes I thought would never fit me.

I've got eras in my legs that keep me moving.
Forgetting to revisit the past
I internalize it and sing it while I'm sleeping.

I wake up new.

Autumn

Autumn never existed here-
unless the oranges and browns of your face constitute seasons.
I watch the leaves still full of green float off the floor and
look for trees they never came from.

You are Autumn sun and I am
cloud not covering your face.
Fix brightness on the sidewalk,
hum tunes of California.

I never knew what Autumn looked like-
I imagine purple with red
like blood bursting from veins of leaves

Heart burns
Sun burns
You burn like Autumn never has.

I Don't Want

I don't want pictures of my favorite stars
stripped of their glamour.
Don't want black and white images distorted by color
blown up human size.

Take your close-ups and bury them in snow.
I want background-
autumn leaves and
rainfall covering your face.

We are pretty when we're moist and drowning.

Give me
images of Marilyn Monroe-
make perfections look like accident.

I don't want to see how her skirt is blown.
I want to watch it blow.

Birdcage

I'm okay with dying
because one day
Tyrannosaurus Rex's will nest in the spot where my bike used to sit
brand new and rusting.

I live in a time of domestication-
metal has time to solidify and we take for granted the ability to change water from cold
to hot and back again with a turn of the wrist.

Caging of birds stunts growth but makes sweet music in the morning.

I'll keep you-
cover you in blankets at night and contemplate setting you free
when your bird songs sound like wails and I'm trying to sleep.

Found this

I just want to be backstage with you holding each other's noses so that we can't smell the cigarette smoke
and the fear
and the stench of brand new perfume.
I just want to laugh inappropriately and not be ashamed of the pieces of lettuce between my teeth from the salad we shared but never finished.
I just want to tell you I have something to say and stutter and sweat and laugh even more because of it.

The concert is always overrated and we'll wonder why they scream,
why they get dressed up and dance without dancing,
without ever moving their feet.
We'll dance backstage- separately, but together-
touching the only way two people can.

It is too dark to see each other here, so we can relax our muscles.