on jesus & lake swimming
someone puts my head gently underwater
tiny fishes recognize what iām
going through & continue swimming
i hear choirs singing in supermarkets
& guitar from a stage in an empty theater
once i met jesus christ at a bus stop
he wore temporary tattoos & denim
& he kissed my hands & we didnāt
speak because we were both listeners
someone gives me air to breathe & it
tastes like trail in hot summer & gentle melancholy
i float on top of the water now
& i demand nothing just move
on the current of a dead language
later at a party where it was all
air & bodies in quilt pattern
i saw jesus again, sitting in a little armchair
reading leaves of grass
his hair was in two symmetrical braids
& as he turned the page i saw the dried blood
on the heels of his hands, i called
his name as i had read it in the dictionary
he looked up
i never was very good at eating, always
hungry or too full, sailing gaily past
boundaries and beautiful lines, looking
longingly at encyclopedia paragraphs
on bears & ants & vultures
all those creatures who know how to eat
on the lake i forget food is necessary
light appears to me almost blindingā
like god, eyeless, intended
prayer is like public transportation to me
as in naming is good for humanity but
it was always hard for me to feel human
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black lagoon baby
red canyon dust in my eyelashes and
two pears in my hands, yellow and speckled
i stand before you, devotion,
hold them out to you,
devotion, green ocean washing their pinched tops
fresh from life, bite them and taste
an angelās open palm,
eat from my hand, tamed thing
have this from me, an opening
stained glass on the sidewalk,
so raw it looks like wound
before blood even gets an idea,
or bedsheets, white and mussed
in a spiral pattern like seashellā
electronic music plays back in the
place we just left, door swings closed
after a leather shoulder, i look
at the hair on his face and i whisper
to you something in my mother tongue
love i learned from deep beneath the earth
i see the world this way because i was
a very lonely childāyou eat
both pears, and my hands are sticky
with waiting for your next bite
to connect with their rough flesh,
i drop the stems in the gutter and
walk toward the city night,
which is more like salvation
whatever bible city means love and no socks
your face sticky too now
from where i touched my fingers to it
in a moment of weakness
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love poem in which again i am new
youāve been told, is in the spine.
youāve been told, is in the spine.
it holds you up.
so that you may be closer to god,
or at least to the ceiling.
i donāt know, i am the minotaur
only living to stand.
and i learned that love does not transmute
it recontextualizes.
i have the same hands but i love them better
because you love them.
i make the bed for you and look
you in your eyes, heaven craters,
and i wonāt forget ever again
the name of the man who invented rubber gloves
because he was in love.
my desert baby
my balancing act
my 222s all in order, day after day,
let me hold in my mouth
the nature of you. honey sweet,
overwhelming, getting me
glow-headed in spite of myself.
smile in my mouth. noise in my mouth.
meat, music, marigolds
all in my mouth. this having is
not the reason for love,
but it is a nice side-effect.
i am slow but i know you will wait for me.
itās all complicated,
opening my eyes is complicated
but love makes sense to me.
my dog-toothed sweetheart
my river dam
my fishtail, my ending, my
loophole and instruction
now i run, headfirst, horned and gory
but loved instead of bulldozed.
i donāt care. itās all perfect these days. end id]
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december poem
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on loving the prophet
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love poem
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The Park Vision 1
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JULY INDOORS BY FIG
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EVERYBODY LOVES ME & NOBODY THINKS IāM BETTER OFF DEAD
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feel it! by fig.
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āweird match no. 9ā
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escapril day xx: stranger than fiction
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escapril day xviii: nightmare
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escapril day xii: comfortable
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escapril day x: iām worried about her
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escapril day ix: paradox
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escapril day viii: tessellation
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