Back To the Farm

The apple you snuck me
still lives on my lips
when I dream I feel
the rough fence-posts
and the cold wet surprise
of a cow's nose.
(Silently I laid an oat-stalk
against the electric fence
YES sudden shiver YES ELECTRIC
hiding that throb of new
knowledge behind your knee)
Hey Papa, what'll it be?
Something more than do
and don't Something like
YOU? YES INDEED
come on, here's a hand, let's go
back to the farm
of my memory.

Bone & Feather

I say what is it
You say hummingbirds

(squeak machines dizzying heights

territories furious summer & winter;

now the male dives to impress, 

metallic noise, how he wins her)

Could I be tiny I say
You say sure

Could I be fearless Could I sing 

mechanically

but still be bone & feather

Ride-Along

Mom you stupid beauty
abused. Shied away
from meaning. made the most disgusting face
I've ever seen when looking
at your own body.
Mom you stupid
beauty. Always trying to see me
naked as if you could peek
into another world
where no hurt was done.
You stupid beauty.
Now I hobble the curb
of you symmetrically,
like a fated partner
or a mail-order bride.
Like a paid partner
for the Christmas UPS driver,
Your ride-along.
Stupid blind beauty
making me run rampant
on shards and into thorn
bushes, gruesome realities
you made me answer the door to
so you could sleep.

Drummer

Here in the damp basement

walls slick with mold

is the old drum set.

A broken cymbal hangs 

at a festive angle, 

and the punched-out bass drum 

's encroached upon by dilapidated boxes,

their many pressing bodies

urgent with decay; brown, boring

but for the way they're full up

with photos and filmy memorabilia.

You used to sit and say "my throne"

and beat the skins so hard 

we had to dance. We laughed.

The sodden stacks of cardboarded images 

and failing snares 

can't tell that story.

How I've missed you now, for so long.

YOUR GLORY IS UNSURPASSED

Light shaving the top of Seward Park like the handsome half of a man's face
Seagulls caught by late-evening yellow-gold, sparks flying off the flint of Mt. Rainier, bright as airplanes
Contrails and clouds running wild horses to the western sun out from the one dark fulcrum of Issaquah
I-90 over the waters floating cars on its arced belly like breaths or spirits
Whole sky cinching like a glad girl about to see her father
Sweet smells in the wind hint shouts of banana, pineapple, mango---
Who are you what have I done to be here---
Your glory is unsurpassed

Go, Team

Up 9 floors from Sun Liquor an overplucked eyebrow loses her phone

amidst the flapping and the hoist-y teamboys shouting points;

that's how I know we scored, scored again, are winning.

Take that SF! And back to YouTube videos

of birds twisting tunnels of dna through weird areas

and the slow sweet sock dance of loneliness I dance

on your carpet and taste your grappa 

drifting from the drawing table back to the mirrors,

taking in the view that must cost you a monthly million

watching my reflection my only companion thinking go,

team.

MY BEST STUDENT, OR WHISPER-GIRL

for Trisha Sy, who loves & does what I can never


That steady hum of electricity

My squandering love on you

The weight and heft 

of your hair

(what did you expect? for us to all gather around

in front of your desk, leaning in to hear

your voice that was just barely louder

than thought?  but that is exactly what I wanted

to do).

Khmer-beautiful cheeks
Filipina nose
Chinese lips

Say things
I cannot

You love every

one

Like a mother who lost
her firstborn.

Gentle you

Making even the vilest

become him.