diving into tide pools

There are times
when I think
that I'm holding my breathe
mistakes
I plainly name them
a word that does nothing
to explain why my chest falls
so still

and I stretch and stretch and stretch
trying to burn something
into the blanks
which quietly engulf
like all those little tide pools
found at the right beach

my body is a secret creature
full of strangers
shaking hands
they leave my mouth
hanging on my face
like a wax clown
all the teeth protruding falsely
and the lips done wrong
grotesque smiles
plastic girl
with an led light
glowing behind her eyes

and I dance and dance and dance
cut through the air
like a pair of wings
carrying a snake
anything to reanimate
this corpselike state
plastic girl with the wax face
blank
the body is all hollow
prepared and stamped worthy
of being seen
in the coffin

they say she is as beautiful as ever
and never wonder
where all the blood went
and what about the organs
is someone else walking around
with a heart
that pretends to beat

I examine my bruises
hope to slip
stub a toe
accidents that have never happened
reenact themselves
in my mind
so perhaps
there is something
behind my
wreck provoking
recklessness
slice a finger on an oily knife
at the least
onions will make me cry
lift things too heavy
hoping my muscles will rupture
and recoil
like the thin rusty metal
inside an old measuring device

there are times
when I think
that the answers must not be intrinsic

just before I remember
that I am smart
enough
to know
that I am the only person
who can fix this
plastic
fill this body
with something like blood
but sweeter
like the juice that runs
off of every happy experience
and wax melts
to be remolded.

The Bull Frog

When the air thickens
and the house becomes a cage
I press my ear to the window
and listen to the bull frogs
breathe

they use without taking
a necessary symbiosis
which leaves the Earth
naturally sighing
in relief
as the tadpole wriggles free

while many creatures
devour the multitudes
of future frogs
and for a time
reap the benefits too

they do not begrudge me
my grand conscious life
oil stain left where skin pressed
fervently against the glass
attempting to experience something
relevant

I reverse evolutionary roles
and wonder, frantically
with a hope that enfolds me
in loneliness

if they see me
with my eyes hungering
across darkness
hands hovering on spots
I never find with the sun

metal fence twined with vines
of sticky fragrant flowers
overgrown grass
moving across palms
as if consciously imitating
all those small things
that inhabit it

oh but I do envy the small things
their swamp
their simplicity
acceptance as an obligation
an instinctual staple

nothing to bear out
between the teeth
the burden of every mood
lying with someone else

nothing yours to keep
but useful anatomy.

The Backdrop

I wonder where the dragonfly goes

when the sky moves by low and gray

and things refuse to stay closed

I wonder about the green tomato

that rots before its ripens,

happily used by all the insects 

multiplying and dyeing in a new home 

full of nourishment

Such small lives

I leave them where they fall

until reduced to something

unusable even by decay

I think of you and where you go

when the sky opens and the bottom falls out

when things rot before they come to fruition

if you will live a full life

or devour quickly the one you're given

for need of sustenance

I think about myself, attempt objectivity

and decide which I am more like.