AMF Lanes

Laughter in a swirl of motion and color,

Red and blue lights- our disco

Balls are spinning, 11lb meteors

Aiming straight and true to strike

the pins.

Or, veering wildly off center

Into oblivion for the infamous,

and tragic, gutter-ball.            

We make up dances for each

play, getting sillier with every

throw as around us-

body odor and stagnant beer.

But we don’t care, because tonight,

We are Unstoppable.

[Lady Deer] horse, unicorn, disco-dancing ballerina

Relationship between order and chaos,

Magic and rhythm;

It’s why we say “abso-fucking-lutely-

We don’t say absolute-god damn-ly.”

One thing’s in focus,

But the rest is blurry.

Gesture is powerful.

Making out with our hands,

Making art with our hands.

A small change,

A measure of taste.

Progression: choice of order.

When you can’t believe

She just busted out

that song mid-question,

and realize singing has been around

Since the beginning of homo

-sapiens.

 Impressionists, all of them.

Expressive eyebrow.

It’s why infants are helpless,

Different from other animals;

They have no control over bodily functions.

Bad mothering is the cause of every problem,

individual to one.

Mother and smother.

We need a security, pattern

Mechanism in our minds.

To create individuality,

We would be crazy.

A Response to hearing Robert Haas

Graphite Keys

His writing,

One clack of his booted foot on the carpet,

Seamlessly walking where he has never been before,

The click is loud like a sigh of flowers,

Put in the forefront of my mind,

Stopping, a triangle of sound,

Walking downward, sloping as I wait,

Trying to grasp the meaning,

And the loud rubbing

As a cat hissing to get out

Always begins again.

Her typing:

Like a never ceasing click of high heeled shoes on a tiled floor,

pausing only to examine where she has already been.

The clack-clack is faint like buzzing,

put in the background of my mind,

Going on and on, in circles,

jumping hurdles around me as I try to sleep,

as I try to think of something, anything,

but the faint scratching,

so like a dog wanting to be let back in,

never stops.

Gender Dysphoria at the Gym

In the men’s locker room,

There are urinals,

Lining the walls,

And sinks. It stinks.

 In the women’s locker room, 

There are stalls. No balls.

In the men’s locker room

the shower’s have no soap,

and though they have no soap,

there is hot water to spare.

The women’s locker room 

should be the same. But it’s not;

There are stalls to shower in,

With two curtains and soap,

But no hot water.

In the men’s locker room,

Urinals are places to pee.

In the women’s locker room,

Urinals are places to decorate,

Grapes and leaves,

And neutral smelling tablets.

In the men’s locker room

There are lots of boys;

In the men’s locker room,

There are lots of eyes.

In the women’s locker room,

Females change clothes;

In the women’s locker rooms,

Gravity slows.