Poetry

My zodiac sign really is the rabbit / As a child, I ground my teeth in my sleep / According to the rabbit dictionary / That’s how you say pain 

I found a chest / that contained an important upgrade // that let me absorb more damage / going forward,

I learn to fear / what might have happened if they had meant // to maul me, which is to say I don’t think enough / about death,

Beauty in, beauty out. What you consume becomes you.

She threatens to love them like this forever    in pieces  flabby patchwork of his  lost sheet music

So let’s collect our birthed things, no matter / how small or useless, & store them on museum / shelves.

He was asking me / to read his mind / and smell him, acquire memories / with him / that would float through my life with me.

Come morning, a blankness— / what was once the sky and is now / an answer.

The / hibiscus out my window now blooms  the bright / tongue & lips of the Rolling Stones  car-freshener / hanging from the rearview mirror  of my tío’s / Chevy.

And the numbers—the numbers / I see every morning—not birds / but people! people!—

I am listening to the gone / I am listening to the going / even when not / speaking or singing