firefly code

you were sleeping and someone whispered something
in your ear, a rabbit-hole cochlea and a certain disconnect
before it taps out code on your brain. the message is garbled
and your subconscious hears it wrong. you smile in your sleep
regardless. the sleep/wake cycles coming like fireflies looking
for mates, desperate in the warm summer air. miniature flash
bulbs saying i am here, i am here. but you were never there.
i smeared phosphescent glow where i crushed one and then
put my lips to the fading green and kissed you on the mouth.
now i wait for you to turn over, to seek me out with your hand,
pull me towards you. i flash a light at you i am here, i am here
but you don’t wake up.



we made noise on the floor, expecting the red and green
lights to bleed brown, focus on our skin, our naked skin,
the sound of drumming swimming through our ears like fish
who look out through the windows of our eyes and smile
at passersby, all piranha teeth and lamprey mouths that
suck and suck at anything with soft enough flesh, small
mollusk bodies that yearn for the shell, spit ink and dash.
we had rhythm like the incessant crashing of waves,
delicate as young seahorses but with hunger as big as
whales, keening our song through the vastness of the
ocean, luring as the angler fish in the depths all the while.
we danced the sea dance with hands swaying like kelp
and i smiled at you, moving in, tighter and tighter circles.

milk teeth

the drill gets me a new set
they feel strange
in my mouth like rocks

the snow outside falling in crystalline sheets
angel’s fillings on macadam cracked as a pair
of worn out shoes

i walked with stonehenge
behind my lips chattering my breath rattling
like the hollow tail of a snake

whose mouth is this? i wondered
feta blocks and skyscrapers
everything decays.