my library has 11 books

1.

i wrote you a letter overseas
though i'm afraid it will arrive too late;

see, i'm from out west, and it's been awhile
since i've seen eyes as green as yours;

pinch me once if i'm dreaming, break my menagerie heart
with the fender of your cream nickel coupe,
roaring a dozen suns


2.

i went out to california when i was twelve,
it was a roller coaster but i stayed on my feet,

we were the lotus kids, playing russian roulette
with speedballs under interstate overpasses,

breeding creation from empty pill bottles
& mirrored nightstands,

i'll show my scars like stories


3.

i found myself talking to a tree, it didn't say much
but for fifty cents & a nail he'll tell you a story


4.

there is a tree by your house, the knothole on the south side
a bird's nest of innocence & time & wealth,

you are the kind of warmth that tickles your shoulders
in burning buildings, watching the flames from afar,

i know you're not as bad as they all say you are,
there's a rabid dog in everyone and a loaded shotgun
in our hands,

i'm little but i'm old, you told me
and i never questioned you again


5.

my birth is the one mistake i'm trying the hardest to fix;

the birds, the birds ate my face, jawline dangling by sinew,
molars smooth & rounded like tombstones on a fleshy hillside,

i jumped from the house i had set aflame, jumped into
disaster with both feet

it was the worst thing i could think of doing then


6.

i am mad, we all are;

yesterday was a schoolgirl in summer's clothes, romping with
dreamers at teatime,

she drank the strong stuff, ate the pastries,
grew big in the head, popped like a balloon and woke up
in a tire swing;

tomorrow is curious


7.

as it turns out, lot's wife was human after all

so it goes


8.

there is a war going on, they will kill us if we let them,

god is a bumbling fool, making millions on reality television


9.

the farm animals are revolting, pigs in red & mules in blue,

wearing liberty on their shirtsleeves like a bunch of goddamn ribbons,

all are equal, some more than others


10.

on rainy afternoons i go to talk with goliaths,
for they do not frighten me and say so much more than the trees,

what he had to offer were words, so i sat down
and listened for a while,

opened up my mind like a dusty old book,
fingered through the pages and started reading


11.

so here i hang, in this deserted lighthouse

or, frame.  most days i have forgotten rain
and the sound of my mother’s voice.

nothing here costs enough, so swallow this wicked
and bathe with me now in this sin, you savage child,
no face or mouth yet, still speaking.

Shakespeare said it would end like this:

such a foul yesterday, brave beauteous tomorrow;
tomorrow, that has such fire in it.