1.
there’s a mosquito in your muscles that just wants more
it meant to fight for every inch of anything but broke and
wouldn’t wear a ripped tutu because ballets feel like funerals
wouldn’t say automatic or change its accent to become a more fluent vampire
wouldn’t orphan itself for a uniform or undress
on borrowed acreage with no lotion for the insects
wouldn’t blister in a jar that just leads to
lava anyway
2.
invisible oven
invisible seeds
invisible rockets
invisible nails
invisible natives
invisible oasis monkeys
brutal carpentry
3.
inertia has no pearls
your voltage spirals unbeautifully
this serial guest shouldn’t have been a speck
now he’s in a vault with no thermometer doing yoga
he begs, extracts, catalogs, forecasts, filters, perfects, and pilots
he remembers how leeches have no bones
but he can’t stop the moonwalk of your opening irises
and corresponding ah
4.
heaven’s not a hospital
ambulances aren’t islands
nobody gets here by balloon
there’s no nowhere good enough not to pop it
camouflage is silly at certain altitudes anyway
a dollar of eclipse and your cheated leaking chemicals
darken the landscape like pumpkin blood
before a very long rain
5.
indigenous eggs
indigenous shells
indigenous concert
indigenous cake
indigenous knife
your first indigenous birthday
says hello
6.
meat is the new arithmetic
it doesn’t fully absorb the numbers
it hijacks any stretcher headed west
like drugs and police dogs but
doesn’t invite the right beams
doesn’t know how to fish through the curtains
or defend against rabies or vertigo
or acne or hemophilia
it doesn’t digest but parrots and regurgitates
without tasting any flavor
7.
invisible breakfasts, lunches, and dinners
pile on an invisible beach with no waves
there’s no other nowhere like this
you tunnel back after each missed meal like nothing happened
but this triangle is older than your vague vacations
and yawns at becoming
an indigenous inlet, separate astronomy
an invisible god
