that is, it's difficult to enter this one
all these distractions clattering when I shake them from their canvas bag
the new blue cigarettes leafing, the mask
lotion and the eyecloth
turned over on the table
lonely in belongings, which sharpen the edges of things, which keep the day at arm's length

like the show with the partition, a shadow to love in voice alone
and the shows with the satin slip dresses one each for every night of the week
and the show which brings the same man again and again
red flannel left over out of the '05 Bean catalog, some mother of a gift
smother the show all kisses 'round the whole person, the whole marquis lit up
HOLE NOW HEALED OVER now clap
like the show thrown from low clouds those countenances
domed above peaks, stage whispering directions we're all meant to know
like the show that keeps coming and every year the pores in clearer focus, 4k
and I eat it all up I blot up the oil from the pizza I blot up the oil from my forehead
so you might want to eat me, a-pesto-cized upon the table, April April oh oh who cares
I went to poetry school and all I got was a nasty pun habit, I'm due back at the doctor
another shot in the ass and when it blisters open it's something in the oil of course
that show like a dream hanging in castor

I do really believe in trans people I do and I don't really believe in any unattainable gender dreams
there are so many things we suspend in oil and then the oil becomes the real thing I remember
in the market my years in the sound the hawked truffle oil the real deal unless you're a somm or whatever          
and who has time for taste anymore we're doing horror—schlock stock and barrel
my students call everything camp so here: if the formaldehyde drips from the babyhead jar you don't say
     oh, formaldehyde you say oh god oh god yuck get it off
there has been too much time in the shared liquid for this to be anymore what it was

I do I really do believe in people I do I do, I do think this whole thing is worth saving or not
this whole thing maybe, but the good parts like crown shyness
like all the awful furniture in the break room that appears as if overnight and never leaves
a friend takes his mother to the dump and she cries I didn't realize it was just a hole in the ground
and meanwhile seagulls everywhere though there are those who don't believe me when I say
as a child in Wyoming seagulls were as there as flickers and crows and more
there than the bright colored species that were there before Sir Who Now? decided Shakespeare needed
     to come stateside
and the best way to do it was his birds the lande now murmuring
news of starlings known to make a big mess of things invade the homes of goldfinches and break all their
     eggs, kill them drive the bluebirds and the cardinals from their homes the fledgling yolk painting up
     the insides of the nest box

but outside the sky is full of lightning and keeps cutting the espresso machine down
though the customers have all left and our bosses who just bought another house on a whim
are somewhere in Rhineland sending pictures of Rhine wine saying yum yum oh oh who cares
if you push the door just right it comes right open and we'll be here late sweeping
to welcome you in, us and the ghosts
god knows the spirits are fucking around in here god know every day I get a little bit older feel a little
     closer to something somewhat over there

the only thing keeping pace with technology is dirtbags and we double back after the close
to finger the cameras and piss with the doors open and haunt the place a little
maybe take a glass of water maybe muss the displays
take that, oh take that but we hope everything goes smooth in the morning we hope everybody gets
     home safe

__

Vi Khi Nao, who read several versions of what would eventually become my thesis manuscript, told me during my thesis defense that she thought I had edited all the weirdo queer shit out of it. She was right, 100%. This poem was my first attempt to bring back mess and excess post-MFA and writing it made writing poems fun again. Thanks, Vi.