Napowrimo day 1: Deranged

Ode to Persphone

Today I taught the myth of Narcissus to eight eight year olds

Sixteen round eyes staring down at the daffodils unfolded on brown earth

Considering a similar fate:

To be so bewitched by yellow blossoms and sun gold flesh

That your roots dip into the ground and pull water from between rich, dark globules of soil

I did not tell those eight children and sixteen eyes and sixteen ears 

About the daffodil that lies tattooed in ink against my right shoulder blade

 In part, because I do not want them to know me with eight young brains so acutely

As one who has fallen in love with their own reflection

And sunk their own roots into the spring-wet ground for the sake of my own beauty

And in part because at that moment Nina spotted a fat gray toad

And it quickly became the most compelling thing any of us had ever seen. 

Love at 80 mph draft 2

The groves on the pavement on the side of I-90 whisper my name

Just accelerate around the tight turn of an on-ramp

Stepping on gas and leaning into the pull of your own body

Want to go forward, want to turn, desires pushing you, pulling you

What is gravity but all the built-up sexual tension of the universe?

Faster, against the odds

More, against all forces moving towards entropy

My orgasm is an act of defiance against the eventual heat death of the universe

When I drive into the sunset the world stops turning, just for me. 

Springtime series 8

And when the birds return 

I am filled with bone-melting relief

Each morning they sing and I wake just to hear them

Each feather from their soft, round bodies is a celebration

The blues and greens and reds and jet blacks

That soothe the loud drum of my severe winter heartbeat 

Into the melody of soft green shoots, 

Hesitantly poking their shy leaves into the sunlight

I try not to fall in love with each stranger I meet

But when the sap is rushing to my leaves

And each of their eyes holds the secrets to the universe

Not loving is asking my life blood to halt in its tracks

Cease rushing up the cambium of my flushing skin

To cease the unfurling of my feral green leaves

To cease the blooming of my deafening yellow flowers

My body is the springtime and 

Thawing is the most beautiful and terrifying thing I have felt 

This year

Rattlesnake Poem #3

I fight dirty

So I never win clean 

I learned to tie the highwayman's cutaway knot

A tangle of threads that cuts loose with a single tug

And it never takes me longer then three seconds to get on the road

The voices in my head stopped scolding me long ago

They had so many voices outside to do it for them and

It's hard to hear anyone else when 

"Survive" is tattooed across the inside of your eyelids and

Echoed in the beating of your crooked heart

Sometimes I see the girl I once loved 

In clouds but then I always turn my collar up and prepare for the rain 

She taught me that

When life is a battle where you need every ounce behind your fist, 

You never learn to pull your punches

And really, what's a few black lies for the open road?

What's a bruised ego for a horizon that stretches so wide and empty 

You loose sight of the ground? 

Rattlesnake #2

[so this is a series now]

His hat cast shadows down his jaw

His fingers were tombstones or feathers

He taught me to fly with his breath in my lungs

But didn't say falling was being untethered

And at the end, all that was left

Was the sun and the rain and the sweet remains of the memories of a boy I once loved in the west

His laughs were a song in a language

No one had ever taught me to sing

I never hoped for a second

To keep him, I wanted simpler things

And at the end, all that was left

Was the sun and the rain and the sweet remains of the memories of a boy I once loved in the west

He left like an out of tune banjo

His steps were the strings out of tune

He left like a poem about leaving

I wish I could say he returned like the moon

And at the end, all that was left

Was the sun and the rain and the sweet remains of the memories of a boy I once loved in the west

Rattlesnake's song

The taste of your skin was a sin that my preacher had never prepared me for, I adored

Your hips and the taste of your lips like moonshine and your hair I swear so fine

I could run my hands through it like water, I ought to have left you that first night

You fell right like a weight in my ribs and I hate to admit but once I let you in

I was a dead man walking, my old life shed skin like the snakes

I loved to hold, they were cold like I thought I could be, you helped me see

And I held you like your bite just might be the death of me anyway

I stayed pinned by your hands on my wrists, understanding a language

That I had never heard, not a single word and all that was left

Was the sun and the rain and the sweet remains of the memories of a boy I once loved in the west

Body Series 25

 Ghosts

The ghosts of my old lovers hide in the way I touch my bottom lip with my thumb

They whisper from dark corners at me to put the toilet seat down

I see flickers in the corner of my eye whenever I change the oil on my car

Or when I drive past exit 18 on the highway

My lovers' ghosts slip into my speech sometime

When I pull a long "ah" across my tongue just to remember how it tastes

When I slip on the word home, like one of them left it tattooed on my spine

What am I if not a cobbled together house of learned habits

And steps taken in carefully mimicked time?

Nailed together quirky ways to say hello and goodbye

The puns we liked to make about eggs draped across the gaps in the shoddy ceiling

Sometimes I remember the instant I looked at the way 

She tilted her head and decided to borrow the gesture: to take it inside and make it my own

And sometimes I just know that my love for the smell of the rain 

Was an idea someone else had, whispered to me beneath sheets

Of indeterminate color

They taught me how to make pretzels and I copied the swish of their hips

With the detail and attention of a Sofar

And we called it love and for a while

That was enough