1940 On The Docks

the doves pull on a loaf of bread
tearing up the plastic wrapper
they have wings the size of rats
pulling up the polymer bag
they are the size of hunting dogs
they are the size of plated glass
beaks are red, the sliced bread
crumbles into broken pieces

my secret is I crack brown eggs
pour them into my lunch bag
I separate the water membrane
and chew on it like paper napkins
my teeth become a second eggshell
this obscene chicken just got scoured
this obscene mouth is turning brighter

in Bolivia I’ll hide like women
all the doctors holding bone saws
will not go to Bolivia. what they do there
makes nails come out of wood

a crate that cannot be opened
that breathes much deeper under water
above water making noises
the neck must be so long
the muscle must beat slow
one and then the other numbers
one and then the other numbers

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The Daily Ritual

it is okay to breathe the grounds
this train will not arrive on time
it does not mean an equal measure
one lining keeps the organ happy
duodenum squeezing heavy
duodenum rocking slowly
abigail comes out the closet
abigail hiding something
it is okay to drink the ocean
water made of angry specks
crippled evolution

I kept a dollar in my wallet
and some wound growing on my chest
I followed drifters continental
and rubbed the sand into their eyes
it is okay to see through lenses
it is okay to breathe and moan

these tracks are made of iron ore
we should marvel at their liver lining
what’s the status on this wisdom
my drowning made these buildings up
my drowning made my people strong

and I heard a sound of falling milk
it is okay to swallow this
this smoke will never cover father
this smoke can’t turn the people’s will
what’s good for her she’ll never know
tied her arms to growing branches
duodenum shapes the wonder
of this world in fat and salt
make this statue melt together
make this statue holy wars

what’s good for me is wet eraser
that summer that the seagulls turned
that summer that the gate went up
I made that iron what it was
I heated all the towers down
If Paris could only see me now
If you could only see our rivers
you would shriek, my ballerina
my nerve that doesn’t run
breathes like harriet, over the dunes
brown rags and a staple gun
run up the moving hill and look at your son
taking great pleasure from mercury rolling out his lips

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Overnight

who’s coming through the door
lifting the latch quietly
the simple machines pull and twist
we hope this hinge has oil

the wood has weight
the fist has a motive
who’s this coming through the door
a desperate shake
the room is getting quicker
another shake
a hand will not unlock it

scratching now
but I’m already in there

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The Empty Lots

all 32 teeth
can feel the pounding

caught in a road
this land can go back
with ease
the logs can come down
the water can be electric
the dogs can lose their eyes
the specialist can be called in

the wind can lift this sod
underneath this pale haven
we can find the body
we can dine

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Down in the Briars

we all knew her jack but some of us knew it was pure water
falling on our heads without a skull without a head of hair
we all knew what we got from her, what made a nest of famine wires
those strung out eyes and backpack cheeks
we had her spine and put bruises up her back
the kitchen is black now the trash can is empty
we all participated in her appetites, pure water jack the only role she played
was over fast with legs in the air with baying coming up
straight from the plaster ground down in the mud six feet down
down in the mud six feet down down in the mud six feet down
and we all looked around with feral eyes shuttering
her hair in our hands and arteries exploding for all her family
we made them wash their daughter out
they made us draw big laughter out
she wrote to us because she wanted more
oh god jack, you go ahead, I just wanted to watch