SHAPES

come to find, perhaps

that this story had an unreliable narrator all along

a hissing of vinyl threads rises like cosmic radiation

wavelengths I only learned about behind a desk

take me back to the backseat to sort this all out

I press play, a rattling echo, a song about sisters

one we probably should never have heard

so here’s the girl who used to have short hair because she thought it was freedom

wash it in the sink

now it’s long and wild no matter what she does

and if you look closely, her eyelashes are somewhat stuck together 

as she walks into the studio

as if they dried that way

the shapes of people are like branches

arms and legs and heads 

the shapes of pain shooting

you kept listening to those songs long after me

and you felt I was the one who left you behind

I remember the rattling treble and warm mesh seats

pulling into the parking lot of the library

aubrey love, god I remember her face

I remember not understanding why someone would need to knead knots out of their own back

sitting on the vinyl rug on the vinyl apartment floor

I can't - grab it - 

the moments are high vapor

like the pill between your teeth

can't weave the words as I used to weave my bike tires through the houses

want to eject a normal sleep rhythm with my arm branches wide open

free fall into the night hours and wake slippery tilting

life is not a timeline and bars and tone

it is not titles and moments alone

I wake up these days and think, summer's passing

mark the ground, don't step ahead, me with my prime lens

you got a perm

sit there, just to the left of the seam

camera A and B rolling, sound speeding, first question

where are you, curly head?

where are you? why is it about you?

what do you mean to me? why are you the figure of all of this?

why is it you and not the mountains glowing

the jew spinning, the healer singing

the new zealander faking, the african towering

instead the old figures turn curiously sharp

subconscious rising

saturday.

I'm processing, it has nothing to do with you

noon.

we're all shapes and I hope we stay as young as we can for as long as possible

wrap me up in this and tape me

SURFACES

and so,

because there are no words

and because there is no script

and because there is no image

and because there is no song

we have only our lives

to speak and rehearse and sing

and so, 

it's our lives, the film and song

our lives, the story

and every day you tell it

the auteur you are

and my eyes burn like yours

from staring at the screen

yours burn from seeing it all

because you also love the liar before the fall

and my husband whistles out of tune

and I call him just before takeoff

hair billowing in the wind

mountains on the ocean floor

dallas is on fire

you said to me,

this isn't the movie, you are.

step and repeat, step and repeat.

IN A SENSE

study her face.

a critical mind will try to unwind

but they cannot erase.

something about the stride of this reacher

who seems to sail an inch above uncertainty

in a place that looks well

match her pace. 

smile with a side hug

and keep on walking

"I like your shoes."

"they're my favorite," 

she slides barefoot through the artificial grass.

run her race.

equal parts espresso and foam

water washing down my face

touching high fading stars with her arms

an early morning and radio taillights

find my taxi at the capitol, unpack, and run

tears to your ears

"all of the glory" is something to dance about

we are well, we are well

blueshifting in a way we can't describe

did we meet her when we were children

or did she never stop being one

HOLLOWED

bury me in blankets, then.

I'll plow my lungs for oxygen

beneath a sheet of stars

the fabric of spacetime dips down

and I find my new gravity,

just for me.

a poster for my movie

a husband who sees through me

let's slow down this interlude

a hesitant jive on the living room carpet

slow it on down until it's three in the morning

and it's just us on the highway.

reaching for you in dreams

bluish twilight beams

the hallowed hollow above our planet

is our creative space, baby.