a cleaving

1. it takes at least a half hour to phase into
day one
morning
from rock-sleep

2. lauren, katy, shiz and i roll
out our mats parallel
to one another
perpendicular to the wall of windows filled with sun
and the treetops that filter it
flickering their leaves like fans

3. katy
60something and handstanding
silver braids pinned to the top of her head
(not so far removed from the character pippi longstocking)
i’ll meet you guys downstairs in a minute
she says
and we can start thinking about breakfast

4. what, you act like you were raised in a barn
shiz says
to the four goats
while we manuver wheelbarrows past their
cloven hooves

5. wheelbarrowing through grass patches
past clucks from the chicken coop
along the gravel path
past the rosebush
like a bull
this body is meant to work
i welcome my callousing hands
my strong arms
home

6. we build nests
out of scythed grass
fill them with layers of goat manure, earth, kelp, bone meal
before we lower
winter squash plants in

7. ADIDAS clubhouse meeting
three of us stripped down to our sportsbras in teh sun
cardshuffling
each of us pulls the nine of bottles

8. sunsprawled after a series of sneezes i realize
a cleaving
what i was there
and what i am here
do not cross over

9. i prefer not to use the word ‘breaking’
about horses
i say ‘turning’ she says perched at the overpiled kitchen table

train pullin out of the station…

dear readers / friends/ comrades / followers / lovers / colleagues

i am headed out of town on a two week adventure

i am going to dip my toes in the icemelt rivers that made me
i am going to find stars in the sky again
i am going dive into the sea of radical queers around bonfires, inside tents, on front porches, in living rooms and sweaty dance floors
i am going to say hello to forestfulls of treebark moss and ferns so green it hurts waving in the cool mountain clean wind
i am probably going to get rained on
i am going to watch the sunset from a grassy perch that overlooks the trainyards and the columbia river
i am going to visit one version of home.

while i am away, i will be detail collecting analogue-style. posting when i can. and catching up upon my return.

in my absence, it might be a good time to contribute your own details (just click on the headings under ‘i believe in collaboration’ column at the right).

thank you for being with me
i will return

xoxox

frankie

summer solstice

peacock call
after dark
carries itself across the cool settled in the canyon between
where i live
and the zoo
on the day of longest light

how this body was woodcarved

like one trains an eye
through telescope lenses on stars / planets / shimmering milkspills
like one chases tornadoes across a flat
nebraska highway
like one who pilgrimages to the same body
of water every year
tell me you’ve been following me before i was born

some kind of farmers almanac
tell me about the catalogue
tracing my arc
charcoal on fiber
a history that pre-dates prehistory

my bones
tell me how they rose

not what will be
but that i have been
tell me
these veins
mapped the way rivers map (carve) themselves

the seed of suffering
small and round
like broccoli or poppy
tell me where in this body
like a pea under a mattress

of this blood
tell me you know
where the lines were cut
tell me
the grave
of my great grandmother

tell me i can finally rest
curl into the shape of sleep
that my elbows (star points) and riverways (everything you cannot see)
may be gathered
and held for a while

how this body was woodcarved
a trojan horse
a secret vehicle of fighters
or a vehicle emptied of fighters
offering refuge
to the people of
syria
palestine
lybia
offering refuge
for the miners
the farmers / field workers
the children in india paid pennies to mine old computers for bits of precious metal
who will most likely die at 37 from exposure to cadmium and lead
refuge for those who are sold
for the man on the sidewalk today with a scab on his forehead dull brown and the size of a peach pit
for the maquiladoras

a vehicle emptied of fighters
so that it may ferry those with or without papers across borders
back to their lovers
their children
their grandparents
no questions asked but
are you comfortable? do you need anything? can i get you something to drink?

the gathering momentum

1. with a green hanky and a morning phonering
you
carry the spirit of fathers day
speaking the word papi
the way no one else could

2. whereupon taylor is included in the details
as if
we are spending realtime together
which
in today’s case
on the edge of a farmers market stand
dodging dangling plastic bags
is true

3. liz
even if we didn’t pathcross
i hope
perhaps
you found the juiceman
that perhaps
you sucked down the sweetness
of mint
lime
agave
ice-cooled and quenchy

4. rachel and i
relocate our house meeting
to public park pool steps
where i eventually drape the scarf
over face
over eyes
while the rest of me melts into solar heat

5. in some places
sand
in some places
woodchips
in some places
overgrown yellow flower-weeds
in some places
sidewalk cement
in all places
i ran
birds lifting out of cricket-chirp fields
some patches
untouched by the long light

6. sunlight
edging in through bathroom window
through showercurtain
the last white glowburst
before sinking
orange and gold
how the sun bends around the building
to slip in this sliver of window
only later do i realize summer solstice is two days away

7. came across a photo featuring your foot
and didn’t recongize its 26 bones linked under skin
nor the curve of its toes
nor the skin itself
how is it
we magnetize until we are
climbing inside each other
against time
against the structure of language
against definition
(which is worth celebrating
that we give ourselves over to love
without fear
huge-hearted and present as we can)
yet nearly every lover i have inhabited
every lover i have become
pixelates into something other than known
is there a way we might ourselves from dividing like this
layers of mica peeling apart over time
or
maybe we are more than we know
which allows us to give selves away
or
maybe wholeness isn’t the point

8. in spain
the indignados
in greece
the gathering momentum
like the swell of an ocean wave

9. it’s true, corinne!
this is what it’s like when we talk art
future
forward
direction
plans
intentions

edukator

1. don’t let me down
phoebe says
in a firm tone with her finger pointed in the kitchen before she leaves
and because no on has ever taken this kindof force/ tone with me before
i like it

2. some kind of response to robin coste lewis’s ‘fable’ entry from the encyclopedia project volume two:

the caged bird sings only because someone called it that
singing
the caged bird sings because song has been used as code
as secret
as an arrow pointing ‘this way to the underground’

the caged bird may not even be a bird for all i know

the caged bird sings because she cannot believe she made it back alive from the coalmine
and had she known the cage was coming
she would have flown deeper into the oxygenless dark

the caged bird sings same as the caged human sings
it is indeed the thing that calmed me the first time in a holding cell alone in madison wisconsin
(downpresser man, where you gonna run to
downpresser man, where you gonna run to…)

the caged bird is no longer a bird

the caged bird sings because if he was talking to himself
you would call him crazy
not that the caged bird even gives a fuck
but he doesn’t want to give you the satisfaction

the caged bird
is singing
about how napolean asked
what is history but a fable agreed upon?
the caged bird is singing to tell you that i’m taking your best lines
unthreading them and trying to re-weave them for myself
it is an exercise about getting inside
rather than an exercise about stealing
like that german film (the edukators)
where the kids would break into rich people’s houses
and rearrange the furniture
but never take a thing

i made a chart
of how you went from
fable
to slavery
to buddhism
how you said there are slaves in our bedrooms, our cars, in between the pages of this book
how you said i am a leaf that grew out of you
how you stacked
layered
concentric-circled
and i was determined to follow every bend

the caged bird is singing in alarm for my uterus
when i perch my computer
on my lap for hours
me foolish enough to think
that a pillow provides enough of a barrier
because the caged bird is me and i don’t want to
see me
wither
that way

the caged bird is a mascot
for every hostage of the prison industrial complex
the caged bird
is not singing
but shrieking
because he still recognizes sky
through mesh through curtain through plateglass

for our mutual adoration of sky

1. for every animal we cross on the dirt/dust path
there is a symbol
lizard = contentment/contemplation/well-being
snake = transmutation
rabbit = fear
squirrel = gathering

2. they way you walk is great
phoebe says
but your right foot pronates
and before i know it
i am standing on a cement bench with my shoes off
while traces the helix of tension
from arch up along ankle
calf
knee
thigh
into hip joint

3. two tiny teaspoons of cang er zi tang
stirred into hot water teacup
plus a pinch of goldenseal
chinese herb scent eliciting the same kind of comfort that some people derive from a steaming bowl of chicken soup

4. over 1.300 peaceful protestors have been
killed in the streets of syria with
thousands more detained and tortured
despite this and the severe communications blackout, the syrian people
are still in the streets
the email states before it leads me here
which might be what sends me spiraling

5. and then there is the garlic
snipped from its perfect
curing/drying perch

6. for our mutual adoration of sky
and other details

7. i spend the day
listening
in alphabetical order
to songs starting with f
(somewhere near ‘father figure”)
the grief over very ex lover
spilling expanding via
antony and the johnsons
otis redding
midnight oil

8. corinne tells me
about the end of the film (the polymath) with samuel delany
how he made the rule
that all of his students
must raise their hands
after he asks a question
and if he calls on one of them that doesn’t know the answer
they can respond
i am uncertain of the answer, professor delaney, but i defer to (point to another student) to answer the question
and this will go on
until one student
finally
offers an answer

9. photodocuments in the inbox:
the bruise
the altar
the letting go
the summer feet
the blue food color contrail-split sky
the overgrowth
the slip n slide sleep over
more of the bruise
the fancy eye

full moon eclipsing in sagittarius

it’s a full moon eclipse
a good time to write intentions for the next six months
corinne tells me

(with a little manifestation on the side)

to find the forest within and beyond
to press hands to coolwet moss
to drop body into glaciermelt river water
to camp under the reaching of tree limbs
clothes infused with fire smoke
to rediscover stars, whole skyspills of them

to see projects/creations through with intention, focus and direction
to submit manuscripts which will be chosen for publication
to submit applications for residencies for which i will be chosen
to know/breathe/believe that i am capable

to unplug

to zoom in/out, orbiting around self and place in order to gain perspective

to speak spanish
to learn spanish
to explore language(s)
with determination the color of glitter

to build family up around me in san diego

to land in my body
to move in it
to connect through it
to sing
to fill whole rooms, buildings, cities, oceans with laughter
to become molten and contagious
to become a vessel of joy

to restore and build sanctuary

to release all struggles over being in only one place at one time
to release all struggles

to tour
perform
re-connect
re-ground
with radical queer (and allies) community

sky blue (sky) / capital-A Adventure

1. orangesliced and
peanut butter banana
this morning i am quiet and close
to earth
edges of self curling in like a dry leaf
internal
one might call it
kate
it pulls me close to
how in handwriting
you talked about approach/avoidance
sometimes
it is what we must do
to keep sanctuary

2. entering mexico
past the guards with the sniffing dog
and then
a button i am asked to press again
that turns a light green
neither of us have seen that one before
and don’t know the logic behind it
though maybe
it is a very advanced clicker
that keeps track
of numbers
you say

3. you (i) know
you’ve (i’ve) been in the u.s. too long
when you (i) wrap my head around the fact that
you (i) can just stand in this one spot on the sidewalk
unmarked by busstop signs
and sure enough
the bus to las playas
will zoom by
barely stopping
and open its doors to you (me)
and any other person
that knows

4. you
in the window seat
which means when we talk
i get to make eye contact
and soak in the textured city
frame by frame (bus window as framing device)
bike shop BICICLETA sign in cheapblue peeling on solid white
and the cemetary
white headstones like teeth
poking up along one of few green swaths

5. sidewalksleeping dog
small pile of goldbrown
almost deflated
in noon sun
from here
i cannot see it breathing
from here
something redmaroon like blood
past ear along face
upon approach
the redmaroon disappears mirage-style
and the risefall chest shows itself

6. in terms of romance
besides alleyways, text and going steady with the farmers market
i have had to import it

7. ana teresa fernandez
in a black dress and heels
ana teresa fernandez
in a black dress and heels climbing a ladder
ana teresa fernandez
in a black dress and heels climbing a ladder which has been secured into sand and angled up against the posts of the mexico / u.s. border at las playas de tijuana weilding a paint power-sprayer
first the primer
then the sky blue (sky)

8. i apologize
for the almonds
an account of their
staleness
and continue to eat them in small handfuls

9. sand sunwarmed on top layer
black grains gathering under nails and the places
where skin folds from bending (like knuckles)

10. when someone approaches saying
from a distance, i thought a part of the fence was gone
i couldn’t see it!
that is the moment
i understand
the brilliance
of disappearing a section of the fence
even if it is only an optical illusion
even if the paint will be eaten away in oceansalt wind in less than a week
how it might lift our collective psyche
to believe that for a moment
part of the wall
has fallen

11.  there are animal parts in that truck
i say
though i can not be sure
i thought i recognized the smell
from the corner where the green bay bus pulled around the smallest of three slaughterhouses
whose appearance was masked by a trailer park
and how i could not believe
that some people
lived pushed up against the smell of death
seven days a week

12. two gringos
walk along the freeway shoulder
towards the border
well, at least we’re not the only ones walking
i reference the fruit, water and what was that statue i walked past sunk low on the grass?
turtle? vendors

13. it’s a lot like this
i explain
(it meaning jury duty
and this meaning the line to get into the u.s.
where we wait
move forward
and wait
and move forward
and wait some more
[etc])
only there are chairs and maybe a magazine

14. first
you tell me about white cars
and then we pass names back and forth
names like opi
riva
maryeta

15. in the kitchen
while the curried vegetables simmer
a sonic loop cycles me back one year
summer soundtrack 2010
how i almost expect to look up out that greasy kitchen back door to find your face pressed up to the screen
me flour-handed and wrapped around you for a one-minute hug and neck inhalation

when are you coming home?

since we’re talking nests
i might as well use bird language
she says
migration

it’s like you are rearranging furniture
she says
when you speak in languages you don’t know well

and then there’s the zoloft tag-line:
zoloft; better than dying
which may sound horrible/insensitive
to the large world
but between us
it’s a way of slicing up a bad deal
and rearranging it into something
we can at least laugh at