white lion

do it again, silly
one page per wall
so that i will only see the middle part
beneath a thin
layer of grease
at the white elephant sale
after i have spent my very last cent
so yes, you are clever

i gave you pretty white
rabbit ears
and never knew it was the foot you needed
and meanwhile
i did not write
in pink for you
and green does not match your hair
nor does remembrance
so perhaps it is not fair

to see you above water
with all the pages spread around
spinning
in an umbrella, upside down
and opened outdoors only
when it was so crucial to see a face
and admit crimes i would
never actually commit
and allow you to condemn that which
(in theory only)
mattered to us then

hush.

in the lightless chill
i found you and your damn sweater
see i just needed a talk
but you
wanted me to live
you and your Lola
and your damn white horse
and i regret to say for me
it’s not too late
never

so i lived
far from the brink with her voice
and mine, and it is all a soft and cozy “hush, dear”
when the wall of the temple is our skin
and sacred is far from certain, to
the point of sacrilege
when “she’s so…”
becomes
“shhhh”

and when
forever or just tonight
this can never, never, never be right
or i am wrong
whether in the style of silence
or song

a-string

sugar

when i burned my clothes
the black left
was white right
white light

and please, stay
see refugee camps are temporary
like statutory
stone certainty

i could say
in the night i wonder
if i’ll have no roots like yours
after all this trouble to dig
if i’ll find only twigs
and you’d say i was wrong, that’s
not at all how it would go
and i’d hope so

the daughters of

we swept the dust and the purple pebble
under the big carpet, mama,
to chase them away

yes and
we had our wind-up mice
when the friends at the window weren’t so nice,
when it rained,
but they wouldn’t come in,
and our white dresses
wouldn’t go out
but nellie was here

when will i feel better mama?
you say you’ll tell me
when i’m older
you pat my shoulder

there are such wholes
in my throat, mama, there are such
whales
in the sea,
two,
three,

two vases, and me,
four, no more!

oscar and olivia

but i didn’t
though it matters not at all to me
if you leaf through

and i dig too
blowing hill-grass off my shoulders
with two red marks on my
lower lip
as if i was kissed by a vampire
this morning
and i bled

you see it’s impossible
to lie for very long
and never long enough
especially for those of you who live
too much
to live long

and you may as well be wild
if you are also simply doomed
but i would rather be like you
than be like this

blue topaz

in the end gold was right
and no breeze, no waves
on a flat sea, steady beat
on medium heat

and the right day was
yesterday
and also today

today for nothing left to linger
the curl of a little finger
on the stem, chrysanthemums,
a little white wine, your place and mine
when the bright gold means
you’re not too old
just bold enough
and perfect like i always promised

i'll go first

my fingertips touched
between shining strands of her hair
in a dream
after they
bled on bark
teasing an old spark
before they slid
so lightly down his arms
for no purpose but their own
they want a permanent home

okay that’s
not
what i meant

illegality

gold foil rises in a cloud
and i was no part of that
only grainy photos and
what i could do
diamonds don’t fall or shatter
just well up
and make a good story

it makes no difference if you are
almost not a transition metal
or not a metal at all but a poison
and spread through nobody
but it makes a difference if you are
almost
because the cigar will still be there
but not everything will

i wouldn’t lie to make it a loop
or any other careless thing you say
but i should have lied for this
to get the very same result, but point to the
flashbulbs and say
“those are mine”