alien hand syndrome

when I’m on the other side—

I’m a molten orb of desire,
kindled between your palms
released, summoned
to a damp forest floor.

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cloud forest

my baby taught me what’s good about being alone:
the magnetic pull of grace—

wisteria, cafe molido, sky laced with western gulls
every morning with the windows gaping
spores of spring sneaking up flesh sleeves
brushed tin percolator brim boiling to the
temperature, despite the altitude, of my own
heightened senses right now
swinging clocks and quiet trees at work
we learned how to break time when we challenged the sound barrier
but i just want to enjoy right now this moment
to salivate a memory

right now, how do i get back to that place
must i faint at the fringes
(is there no other way?)
must i always need like rock’n’roll
cups of steam, herb-stained teeth
slithering into a black dress in the essential mountain fog
mistaken for someone else only for the night
candle burning between me and a serious man
downed our drinks and steeped our bodies in the harbor
thick tannin made for muddy water
we couldn’t sludge out of—

(that was years ago.)

right now, i toe-grip the sand near world’s end
alone
but not lonely,
thinking how you’d enjoy the view.

escape from jersey city

peppermint chamomile dreamin’

half-tea fuzzy sleepwalking to

where logic and yogic converge

climbing up the palisades

spiked hands on abstracts

tourniquet in fever-sheets

strands of hair caught in knots

like bark splitting gums from teeth

killing metropolis, called the cops

off the grid, no river too wide to cross—

you know where you’re going,

but do you know where you’ve been?

float, 5 minutes

soak your body in salt
to reverse its course:

while you are dreaming
does time flow fast or flow slow;

can you decipher your currents
from the ocean’s own;

I’m wavelengths away
~~~barely~~~
a profession muffled
an underwater echo;

if you succumb to the depths,
do you think you could hear me?

two rubber soles

ashes tryna burn through cotton
pierced a perfect circle in her canvas shoes
sketched a portrait of a hidden hemisphere
glossed 180 degrees behind his eyes
it smolders there longer than it should
peach fuzz sizzles on a hot grill
seared tinge of dna syrup sweeter
than lingering in bed on winter mornings

there’s skin underneath more than silver
& bones cauldron of flowers simmering
when she blushes she blooms sighs out
a house on fire drowns within itself
tried to save her once but the pain feels better
watching embers melt oil landscapes off walls
tried to save her twice but joint her instead
evidence in feeling crossed legs in bed

ashes burned through cotton:
two rubber soles
remain

VV

when the well runs dry, I hope you think of me
as the water that shivvered away
when you denied thirst

a freeflowing mass that goes wherevver needs filling
to whomevver needs filling
they call to me as deserts and plains
mouths open like tributaries
confessions prolonged and I’vve got to hear them
sixty-percent buoyant, forty-percent mystery
the neck is a bridge over a rivver to the body of an ocean
we swim within ourselvves
and just as much in others

when you forget me,
I hope you remember me as the perpetual force
winding mill of revvelations
the vvolume displaced
when you no longer needed water
to survvivve

dodging desire like a motorcade,

you sounded your own whistle and steamed through
      no regard for pedestrians, brainy new haircut
       unwrinkled shirt, rubbed yourself shiny
        procured dalias in november fastened round your neck
         and shuffled as not to be too late
all for me: how could I not be taken with
     your discipline and want to feed me dregs
      of a season suspended in time melting
       sunkenfaced jack-o-lanterns crowd front porches and
        they look so sad don’t you get it, sleepyhead?

if complicated is the new black, I would know
     as a woman who dresses in sober widow tones
      and has played the same card, told by lovers that shit ain’t cute
after you pay for dinner, I need to feel brass on blues
     because you don’t put out, I make my last-call alarm,
      tear earrings from my lobes, ready to have someone my own way
       only to have one show up at my door
        pennyflip ‘em back to where he sleeps alone
turning on my incandescence to get myself off

    when I’m low, I’m lonely and I want you to pull your shirt up;
     but when I’m high, I’m punchdrunk
all the world’s roses are for me
and you don’t matter anymore
     here, I learn desire is fixating on what isn’t
      desperation dragging down my tailfeathers,
       beads of trepidation collecting in your body’s seams
the worst of it is, if you would let me in,
I’d learn to unlove you as nature allows
and just long enough to deepen my hooks

        all the while dodging the motorcade that won’t stop—