CALL ME BARBARA

You said it was always easiest this way,
your way, roses in your eyes- no, it’s the big cloud
hanging over Hiroshima. A heart of gold glass, heart eyes
like nuclear summertime. We call you Fallout in wintertime,
listen, I got my eyes growing from the ground, thinking we all need to start somewhere. Me, I’m middle earth. I ask you how it could be so
hot in the middle of home, melted glimmer gloss on the glass window, when it shatters
I say, I hope it shines like barbie’s dream Home.
Inside Home, I feel her crying, a big balloon blown up so big, an explosion
might do her some good, they keep on giving her that white glass to keep her
cold in core. Heart eyes, I think Home could be somewhere else. A boat treading water in the middle of a glass red sea, I beg I don’t want to sleep in water.

You said, it’s the only way,
your way, boat eyes, the big white one! It’s you!
Watch me spin around in this dress made
up of fire flies, can’t catch you yet, big one.
Bit at the knee makes the gold glass shatter, Heart eyes,
Big one, look at me! I’m neon white, a billion bees quake in my heart space,
doctor won’t let apiaries grow up in an aorta.

Look Home, It’s neon white in night time, stolen wrist watch time. Turn the sand upside down, backwards, whatever you got to do, meet Columbus in the glass sea, bit at the knee, get him before he gets you.
Her aorta as big as the core in middle earth, neon white heat escaping from those big heart eyes. Your liquid voice underneath the Home door, whispers loud as bee buzz, pollinating the glass floor cracks,
‘smile baby, the world ain’t so bad.’

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(how to) Continue On (the moon)

You never looked like the moon
Had I always been good at turning the conversation
upside-down to me, about me?
I get so ashamed that Ashbery is sitting on a table
covered in wax, he says something about big bad hollywood, the parallel
universe of tiny baby little new york,
a big tree covered in yellow acorns, he reads my poetry
and he thinks it’s funny, the bad kind of funny louis ck present-day, the cackle squad, always invoking
his echo, he will say.
You never looked like the moon?
A big crater in the space-sky, backlit by somebody else’s
flashlight, why would anyone want to look like the moon he asks,
as if I am supposed to know, am I supposed to know?
Are you proud of what a moon sees of you, tiny new york?
He asks me once, until he is melted all the way through to bone, his mouth
waxed out of his own face, tiny puddled fingers, a body stew, wax everywhere now
even on the moon.

Toxic – Or, An Imagination of What The Sun Looks Like When She is Exploding, Imploding

The sun is imploding, or does she
ex-plode like the core of a rat
twisting insides out?

It is the end
of something, sure of it.
She has turned herself
upside down to that Britney
song, outstretched like an ostrich’s
arm, reaching for the devil’s cup.

No, it wasn’t Britney-
when the core is frozen over,
they prescribe that American Idol
girl, that’s how they do it, too much ash –

It is time to turn on
the rope, it is the hum,
no, the purr of a mouse,
upstairs it is not the sun,
they decided her stinger would melt
in the white with the bees,
instead the grey collapses in, yellow
or the color of stone, the cat is waking up
the neighbors barking, it is the end of something,
sure of it, it is the sound of static, no –
she could talk to the moon, an old friend, heart is
so heavy like a bandaid, is it still buzzing, too much ash,
she’s toxic, she’s slipping, upside down under, the sun does explode,
they’ve decided on that, sure of it, no, it was Britney, sure of it, do her eyes still
look blue under the microscope, don’t be absurd, it’s all viscera now, whatever-
do we feel sorry for her now.

We Will All Dance

upside-down inside a vase filled with your
water, and when you speak, it will sound
like math, solve for x you will say
as if it has always been that easy, then we dance
and dance with your hair twirled around us
building us up like mummies without tombs,
let us out I will say and I will try to scream it too-
but it sounds like the bubbling of a tea kettle you
left on while you shower, mindless, always
mindless, but we keep dancing even with your hair
suffocating us now, the tea kettle screaming so quietly,
take a deep breath, you say, and we do, again again
until it is redness everywhere like a horizon squinting while
our lungs fill with red, your hair pivoting, bubbling
stops, screaming, fire out, turn off the shower, wet feet,
dripping, a match, slowly, easy, no, quickly- enough.
the redness everywhere with you squinting.