DEIR AL QAMAR MEANS CONVENT OF THE MOON AND IT’S ALL I THINK ABOUT
i wanna marriage aziz ansari / because he says clever things on the internet / and i want to marriage the tallest mountain on the planet because it’s the closest one to the moon / but i wanna use it to get to the moon / i want to run away with the moon / but then shit will get complicated because i'll still also be in love with the mountain because a small part of you loves everyone you've ever loved even if you don't love them anymore / so i'll always kinda love you / wait /
i mean the mountain / i’ll always kinda love the mountain / because it's seen me naked
with the lights on / didn't snatch the sun away / in a past life we were newsies / getting lost on backstreets / dropping skin cells / before that we were neighbors / i’d leave a cup of soup on his doorstep every once in a while when the taragon was extra crisp / every time it rained i’d find a different piece of colored glass to glue into my skin condition / replacing skin cells / and then i was a window / left him to throw myself at the sun / rode on the coattails of bullet cases / the sun shrapneled me into my mother's garden where she would find me thirty years later / nestled between the tomatoes / would carry me in the seeds of herself / would learn me how to love / before that the mountain was my wife and i was a bad husband / many husbands often are / lacerated her tongue with the glass she gave me when it rained / have you ever used stained glass for evil / have you ever caught it trying to escape through the cracks in yourself / this is what the catch in the pad of my thumb is / i still carry it around / when my skin gets caught on the lint of my scarf / when it screams by going red / when it swallows the chemicals while i work / while i scrub dishes made of the prelude to everything i'm going to ruin / and it burns / i know
i fucked up once / broke a mountain's heart / now i'm doing it again / i plan on doing it again /
he tells me tattoos are for cretins.
he tells me i’m better than that.
he tells me he’s just grumpy.
he can’t breathe. says when he goes,
his foot better not get tangled in the wires.
better not be a parade balloon.
says he’ll give st. peter the finger and the lasso, too.
says he’d rather go to hell.
says he prays for me every night. tells me to pray every night.
i don’t remind him about history carving itself into the mineral
of our valley’s throat.
about the discovery of the moon next to venus
and a byzantine cross just above
and that’s why the maronites were safe here.
we’re safe here. deir al qamar, they christened it.
convent of the moon. this space rock visible all hours
of the night until it sets itself on fire just before eggyolk
and morning prayers that don’t belong to us.
i watched this every night last summer. instead of praying.
i don‘t tell him i don’t pray anymore.
i don’t tell him that this is how i do it.
that now i want it as scripture on my body.
the same line again and again.
THE DAYLIGHT IS EQUAL PARTS FUNERAL PROCESSION & PARADE
a tiny frog baby carried by a family of ants
and also puppies with strings around their nipples
like they’re balloons chaperoning the overhead
& then the ocean elegantly crashing
atop yr best friend’s scalp, but in a punk rock way
& now imagine the word scalp.
now imagine it past tense.
imagine the scalped
and your feet knowing the dead
better than you ever did
when they were living.
& now imagine your mother’s feet
and all they have seen,
the bone fibers like static,
and secrets stored in the sudden separation
when the bombs came back
in the levant, there’s a thing about feet,
and the bottom of shoes
never show anyone the bottom of your shoes
it’s another way to say Fuck You.
it’s another way to say I Don’t Respect The Dead
That Died To Keep You Here.
don’t kick them off they could land upside down
and then you’re saying Fuck You
to jesus. or to god.
or to that bird over there
flying under that cloud and also to that cloud.
To that tree branch like a cowlick aiming for the ozone.
what if the ozone was the portal to heaven? is a question
i would have asked if i didn’t know we stabbed it open.
does the roulette spin back when you die? is a question
i would have asked before i knew anyone dead.
before i heard the sounds that could come out of my body
like all my organs running their nails down every crack
in me to follow him there
my body is a prison for my organs.
my body keeps them in tune until it can’t.
people you love are organs living outside your body.
love keeps them in tune until it can’t.
heaven is a prison for the sound organs make
when they die. the soul is the sound organs make
as they die.
we are all dying we are all here
watching the gaping hole
in our ozone as it swirls parallel
to the ones that those we love leave behind
for us to fill