Opening and closing portals score: Find a portal. Open it up. Step inside. Pose a little. Step outside. Close it up. Seal it good. Repeat. Delicate fortitude Sadness piling up Pyramids Rage Kindred botanicals All alone on Easter Consumption and the smell of me Language Rage I ran out of tremors: justifications. Your alibis: fascism, numerology. Coincidence - solar plexus - lipstick - dirt. Going away then coming back - lipstick - dirt. Trainwrecks as blessings. Unbecoming me. Lakeshores bring me lakeshores. Hours rain. The barn - the buds - the rocks - the car - the cows - the ghosts - gone away - all the way - god is: hard. Falling asleep while praying: former lover, salvage me… The sudden awakening of new conjugations - configurations - dirt. Slackline - gold thread - beside you - beyond me - beneath. Lantern light to illuminate: camping equipment, cave dwelling ants and crystals, my beloved’s face. What to call a place as it starts sinking. And once it has sunk? My father’s body is so unreal. A cosmology of storm clouds. Guilt. She pounded at his golden triangle with her dull pointed spear. At last, something (somewhere) clicked, and from within the center of their beingness spewed a silky white beam which rose into the air… …then fragmented into a shower of a million jewel-like droplets. A most pristine droplet fell gracefully upon the center-point of each partner’s brow. Tears - torn fabric. A smell - a scent.
GAY ASIAN PRAYERS
Last night I prayed that three poems would come to me in sleep. In the middle of the night, I awoke—as I do— to the phrase: “gay asian prayers,” and I thought: this will be the title of my book. I started turning over lines while half asleep, but I knew that they were trash so didn’t bother turning on a light to write them down, and in the morning I remembered: gay asian prayers, and wrote down in my notebook:
Gay Asian Prayers
with my full name underneath it, and drew a rectangle around the whole thing so I’d remember it’s a book. Then I wrote down two lines; the first was: gay ass paradise, the next was: gay asian pears. Then I thought of nothing for a while, waiting for another line to come, and when it did it was: Gabriel Azriel Percival; and I knew that Gabriel and Azriel were angels but forgot if Percival was one, so I googled it, and he’s not; he’s just one of King Arthur’s Knights of the Round Table.
WHEN I HEARD MAUREEN CRIED AT SOCIALLY-DISTANCED BRUNCH
the weight of a child in this world seems unbearable for several reasons the least being our current situation the greatest being climate chaos but in between there’s the next one hundred years & I feel like planting flowers in a circle in the spring & this will be my home where friends will bring me food & things to build a shelter with & it will be an art piece & a poem to all the mothers of this world & I can’t promise that I’ll stay inside the circle but the point is: the earth is living you are it & life is good & keeps on going & finds a way no matter what until the world ends from an asteroid but that’s not even it because in truth you’re not a body you’re a crystal made of stardust & the sun’s a living creature & she’ll take care of every crystal baby even when the earth is shot