christmas carols


I sneak into the bedrooms
of old lovers, just to scrape my kisses
off of their lips. some wake up, yelling
Indian giver! Indian giver!
in the supermarket, I run from
fruit to fruit, kissing each, so that others
will buy my kisses, unsuspectingly.
I nail my kisses to walls,
like paintings. I make little
kiss-shaped coffins for them and
bury them in the mouths of women
who no longer love me.


you give lap dances to butterflies,
snorting powder off of their wings
before they flutter off to nudge jumpers
and cause car accidents.
you put on ultraviolet makeup
that can’t be seen by humans
but turns on fireflies. they
hover above your eyes all night,
lighting up over and over so that
you’re sleepless and notice roly polies
having orgies in your armpits.
meanwhile, I make love to discarded halos,
and go on road trips to chochos
as desolate as ghost towns.


while you were gone,
I passed time by making love
on christmas cards.
I made love on matchbooks as well,
and in rooms where
the interior decoration was bad.
I made love while music played,
while strangers screamed at streetlamps,
while infomericals sold my old lovers for
twenty-nine ninety-nine.
there was mysterious lovemaking,
forgotten lovemaking, unfriendly lovemaking.
I made love when the light was orange,
deep blue, grey, yogurt-colored, filthy.
I made love when the air around me
smelled like paint, poontang, pets.
all while you were gone.


sometimes I make love to other women
on your shadow, while you sleep. other times,
I live within the confines of your shadow,
touching nothing else than the plane of your shadow,
so that I lose the right to be three-dimensional,
and become two-dimensional like a love letter.
there are times when I cuddle with your shadow,
cajoling it to change shape and look like marilyn monroe.
then other times I seduce your shadow,
while you shake your head,
plucking musical notes out of the air
to polish with your clear gaze.


I send you these birds
that fly out the envelope
and make nests on your eyes
to help you sleep.
but I wouldn’t mind if they
stuffed your mouth like socks
so you couldn’t kvetch
when cockroaches came to
sightsee on your smile.
if I had my way,
I would have mailed you
an anteater, to claw at trout
swimming upstream in your throat.
but I’ve been commanded to
send you these birds
that form winter scarves
around your neck, dice vegetables
for you with their wings,
help you hang paintings
by pecking holes in your walls…
when, really, I want them
to flock into your mouth
and fly out your tear ducts,
taking whatever
of you they can carry –
veins, bones, arteries –
then build nests
made of you
faraway from me.