3/30

the only difference in
our beginnings was that
you had a womb washing
that made a
nub of cells 
sprout a little further than mine,
tucked tenderness 
a little differently.

and even before the precipice of birth
we were both given
job contracts
folded into tiny paper boats,
i am beginning to
understand our folds.

out here,
it is as easy to direct
a swelling of new hormones
in muscle
as it is to direct the sails
of any
benevolent ship.

i spoke plainly of my desire
for a new system under which
to operate, then
pushed myself under and across
the bottom of the san francisco bay,
and several sunny uphill thursdays later
had a tiny bruise under a tiny bandage
on the top of my thigh,
proof there would soon be a
sprouting.

[ this piece is very. unfinished. ]

2/30 how to ignite

think: of every unwanted copy 
of the phonebook.
the fleets of white honda civics,
trunks stuffed with antiquated yellow pages;
speeding down highways to fill
the mailboxes of abandoned, unfinished condominiums. 

think: of every lighter ever lost
at parties, bus stops, barbeques
their collective weight under car seats,
in the pockets of every stoner
you went to school with;
every time 
you’ve needed
it, been asked for it,
wanted to spark
but only had
bare handed apology

conjure that contrast of
small tools stolen and
heavy weights thrown,
and feel the collision.

consider:

seizure a sudden
convulsion, rupture, spasm

seizure a capture, 
commandeering,
an arrival
of power

think: of your chest as
miles deep of frozen soil
thick dirty ice
like a highway in Nebraska
compacted channels for the chain reactions
of delivery

think of every spun out civic
in every snowy ditch
every bic underneath every driver’s seat,
think of graveyards of yellow

and underneath the compacted cold,
your voice: a subtle shifting,
just murmurs, breath pushed
through muscle to make
small vibrations, 
tiny ruptures in gas pipelines

consider:

the fire triangle

fuel – heat – oxygen

know you are warm blooded,
stuffed with kindling,

so be sudden.
sharp.
be quick about it.

take your
breath back,

snap lungs open
again, full.
shake plates,
rupture that cold, dead earth

turn this whole place
into a light show

1/30

dear friends, 

please let me carve myself 
out of this chaos accident of biology.

please respect 
my chosen tools for self excavation
from this cast of caustic cemeent.

do not wake me when i am tucked hiding,
i’m trying to not shatter old fossils of hollow bones.

do not startle me when i am working:
my movements are sharp, uncalculated,

formulas embedded beyond my control and
the goal of this bloody
experiment in pulse
is to

shake that
shake that
shake that

1/31

i wanna tell all the boys who
fucked me like you slurp down a pudding cup
during snack time in third grade,

the ways
i am settling,
now—

not settling for less but
debris settling after explosion.

i want to tell them 
how back then,
i was a misunderstanding of amateur angles
always bending
folding in on myself
until splayed

(like squirming trout on the 
concrete table
next to the cabin near the lake,
fresh caught,
cut open)

how now,
i am learning how to breathe underwater
and about kicking against it,
am a real thing that pushes
and swings weight and
stirs unearthed understandings 
into something less collapsable

i want to ask them if they had
any idea i would end up
like this—

nylon compressed,
fresh pressed, fitted,
plunging into some kind of
new territory:

graceful, vulgar, inevitable
like firework ash falling into the lake

i would like to tell them
this transition
is a honestly just a settling