I remember I was writing my best work,
on the shirtsleeve of a girl I was after,
last name Hefter?
we wished we’d kept her,
slipped her into the to-ship pile,
with the cheap, wooden scepters,
left behind by large, heretical Preschools,
where we learned, together, the Momarchy’s heredital rules.
Robber of airplane peanuts,
sobber of Darjeeling teahuts,
A long 12 hours to Beijing,
The hand-held couple behind us,
Part 1. Recitative
Received: An honorary degree in daughterhood,
earned for knowing the sour taste of lemon-lotioned hip,
and going through stacks about car rides,
legs growing against the windshield,
bending at weird angles,
sunbound plans warped by our Freudian substitute’s glasswork,
who shows his stuff off at Sawdust festivals,
looking up shyly from his molten lump,
at regular intervals,
and best of all,
engorge gorgeousing the big red ball,
a divine, middle-class trumpet call.
Looking through the old tangerine slice in the door…
(I found your self-affirming apple cores everywhere I went,
a slobbish Hansel guiding me to damp ticket stubs in jackets,
to the glove box,
to the cloying community pool
chewed-up, sugarcane-pulp gum under each desk,
fastened to my hair, where you stuck each test.)
…I watched you drown our goldfish “Hero” in mascara and milk,
we hosed off tank gore in the backyard,
baptizing the gardeners,
crossing chests collaterally.
To pay for physics lessons taught outside,
by colliding classists,
“Can I get a ride?”,
momentomous and half-my-weight,
the passive class sits,
people step on their hands,
looking for their glasses.
Broad concert bruises show the morning after,
lines on your face where it knocked down rafters,
where it pressed up against a protective cleavage,
That absurdist with a nose ring and a camera strap looped through it,
You and your hooligirls,
clasped with lace collars,
slippery like Cool-whip,
with the time it takes to deliver them home,
they make up names like “Dr. Chauffeur,”
as they forget their addresses,
“terribly sorry sir,”
What did you want to tell me?
It’s all mixed up on the tapes,
digestible four-beat words,
divulge into punk-black shapes,
divulge into reused October capes,
sobby singers are second-rate,
whenever it’s important,
you come in late.
Juliet looking at that Montaview and the Mantras too.
Thinking about mantarays,
hey I can’t talk right now, ok?
a grand audience made up of roses she gave names to,
like Carl and Tuvalu
All the maps in her room came from the future,
located somewhere she could understand the culture
Honey up on the balcony more hegemony than money,
it’s not true what the boys say about the harp-playing harpie,
enjoying the sunny side of a gone dawn
trying to shear the psalm fronds covering her ears,
and an overgrown hair bun big enough to nest an entire baby,
the monarchs don’t migrate this season
won’t you come down,
let me call you Katie?
a big bowl of RomeO’s,
Peet and Einstein and Tom and Jerry,
eating is scary.
Even Eve’s walk was less heavy,
and her opinions, though breathless,
were so dainty,
they made me fainty,
I’d fall into your arms if you were calcium enough
But unless that’s a moral compass in your pocket
unless your friends have locks for their sleeping bags
unless you all expand in water,
this porch will keep me,
fastened to the floor,
playing binocular wars,
as a matter of course chords
Instruction manuals don’t tell me anything about the things I want to know,
Like how fast do you have to be going?
Like how drunk should you get?
Like when’s my brake?
Breakfast was kind of silly,
We opened wedding invitations,
Some were cute:
I started all my sentences with “in the grand scheme of themes”
and you again with the jeans
pretending the coffee pot was a pregnant neighbor
you rubbed its belly,
and took down the date of the shower
exchanged browning gossip,
as it boiled with girl power.