upside down our gravity
is right side up, where plants
wear gardening boots
and beetles are bugs

boys wear electric skirts
and girls kiss each other dead.

we pull the violet road
backwards like thread on a reel
just waiting to prick our fingers

just to sing, quietly when
it's all over.

liquid not languid
you start somewhere
in a raindrop,
and end like a full mailbox
of fair water
my reflection bounces off
into a smile.


leave-edges cut sore lines
and bright seeds that blind me

the beanstalk climbs me to place
rotten apples on my tongue


arsonist = a firespinner who
twiddles his thumbs, or
a red clown who can’t juggle.

sweet kerosene and oil
burns wood like love in a closet.