blue

 neck on a wire wrung day.

swollen wind, piping muscle, dour chest—

the sun’s morning breath caught occluded.

oppressively white clouds on the wrong

lord’s dawn. always the wrong side

of whether. I weather woman myself

to sleep. foreground a field of blue

with all my well-informed false.

become blue. balloon neck bloom.

string knot on a saltwater wicked

hydrangea. soft now with

swell. everything false good. just like

first light. a greedy choke catching

all my breath. all my un-hearted blood.

all my red gone blue

Pink

flush

out of sleep like a nail-lacquered wand

swatch my swift dripping hue

of the dream          not the dream

i am colored    cupped time

my every little speck of rise    flee

fire on the roof of my glitter mouth

my pink house of lyre blood

i am a blood-liar in blown glass

i scream in the sea of sleep

flight or flung            i fancy the new day

swilled by its chime

i am wind-whipped

i am no brighter

the morning is a fantasy i chemical choke

my mother is not my mother is not

the goddess of glitter

i am pink & no one’s daughter

bright out of the bottle

i am brave because i am drying

wonderment & soft armament

swell of the city

fountain gush & ever-slap

across stone, soothed stone

buildings flare up — inflections

of the infectious we

wild in the mouth with the buzz of bees

a singular man

a grave, motherless color

a shadow, a clink setting over the street

interrogative prick

at my origin of place & sex

yes, i look like a girl because i am                                                  (i am, i am)

&, later, water, green

& me in the alive

alighting leaf

from the starry hair of trees

sweet nursery

cloud i pour under

spine to the bark of my elder

grass & leaves lean & flicker in wind

like i do, & the wood, it is solid

so solid