the air does not hold memory or voice

it is hard to tell where my hands are
the cloud coverage hides shadow.

i have accidental dreams of fish, murder
and native americans. photography bores me,

literature bores me, vanished kidnapping victims bore me.
i have been to the same parlors you frequent, i know

that while i was dreaming you were gathering mushrooms
to poison my soup. you are getting close to me

so that murder can ensue.
the air does not look like you at all.

i have to stop looking at the trees though, they are expressive like
your face. you do not need to raise your eyebrows

so much. i get it. i get it.
things i know, i repeat

the hot air balloon: neutral, wiped of memories does not remind

nothing satisfies the empty space

cleopatra gazelle brought a horse on the balloon
and the candy striper didn’t even bring medicine for my vertigo
the passengers are useless
i would climb down if my hair were longer
or if my anxiety could form a vine
anxiety is useless because it stays on the inside

watching a candy striper and a frame cleaner make out
is not that interesting. i am bored again
i would like to swallow a large piece of the atmosphere
and charm the horse while wrapping him in shroud
all the horses followed me home and slept
with me under silk sheets for years

it is dumb to put your lips on someone’s lips; heat
comes from fire and not some unknowable source like
‘love’ or ‘nuclear power.’ sometimes he took pictures
of native americans and jousting weapons and
sometimes i confuse his face for pedro’s face
but his face was not pedro’s face and it was not clear

like my face and it did not glimmer like a silver dollar
and there is not enough room for a swollen heart,
a frame cleaner, a candy striper and a horse.
forty-seven people i’ve touched have died
i am not sorry. i regret the pollution but not everything:
i had a brief affair with mark rothko

sorry i didn't catch you as you plummeted towards the earth--w4m

you: brown haired man wearing blue jacket and corduroys
me: woman in red hot air balloon

i was studying my split ends yesterday in my hot air balloon when i saw you pass by. the warm glint in your brown eyes made me forget all about my follicles. i bent down to find something i might offer you on your journey, like a crust of bread or a morsel of cheese. it is always good to offer men food. but when i stood up again you were gone.

i wish we would have had a moment to talk. there are so many things i wanted to ask you. like, did you jump or fall? do you need an oxygen mask? do you have any siblings?

i am hoping you got snagged in a tree. if you are still alive and have made your way back to civilization, call me. actually though, there is no phone in my hot air balloon. but you could have a skywriter write me a message. tell me what color shirt I was wearing so i know it’s you.

HAB

on the scientific principle of "hot air rises"

i like to perform experiments on the air. it is “bad for you.” everything that is good is bad
for you. the air gets colder the higher up you go because the molecules spread apart and less
friction is less heat. but if hot air rises wouldn’t it be hotter the higher

up you go? science is difficult. for example, the midwife’s mother has brown eyes and her
father has brown eyes but she has blue eyes. do blue eyes surface in a baby the way hot air
rises? it is impossible to know. we do not have the technology.

i am very cold. for example, the molecules on my skin are spreading out the way the
continents broke apart a while ago. if i had been high enough up in the air i could have seen
the continental drift. the midwife insists on birthing

babies in the air. it is the newest form of technology since water birth. she says that when
babies are birthed in the water they come out blue because of the scientific principle of blue
water. but when they are born in the air they come out clear

and babies should be clear. but isn’t the sky blue for the same reason that water is blue? it is
impossible to know. i do not understand how hot air balloons work. it has something to do
with fire. hot and cold are the main components of technology.

when they work against each other things rise. when they work together continents break
apart and people fall out of the sky. i did not throw the midwife overboard. i did not drop the
baby in a lake. it was science. for example,

there should be a word for every kind of sky that exists

the sky is not a good place for careful observation

it is difficult to see the native americans
at this altitude. they are pinpricks over the landscape
i think or else those are cars. it is difficult to see
a four-leaf clover without looking closely.

all of the sweet peas gather under a full moon; their light
limbless, balled into sweating fury. or else
those are trees, i don’t have water up here.
i keep my sweat in a bottle for hot days.

i have an art collection in my balloon. i have seen civilizations
pass and painted them in blood and water. War is not paint
and tiny brushstrokes; i don’t have paint up here.
“what do you do when you have to go to the bathroom?”

the passengers are dumb. i don’t go to the ground
for them anymore. i am well-stocked with lavender pebbles,
sour peaches and potatoes. i don’t need to see history
closely. i don’t need to see your face up close

to remember the boring fizz of love. my eyes sting
from dry air, not realization or tears, asshole.
i wonder how the alphabet has changed since i last
used it. i wonder if slurpees are called something different

now. it is difficult to know my mind without other minds
knocking into it. there are birds. i miss the native americans.
i miss your bald expressions. i miss mirrors. i miss time
will open up into me, blankly, without passing.

i saw a dead bird in the road today

there is a house on the water
made of dead birds
their open beaks hatch the roof
and their eyeballs are doorknobs
their wings paper the walls
and their guts are sofa beds.

they watch home movies
and remember their childhood
the movies feature dead birds flattened
in the streets and dead birds floating in the water.
dead birds with soap bones, dead birds with
cloud bones. church bones. water bones.

birds that are alive swoop
on the house. they peck at the roof
and eat the muscle couches. they think
about how the ocean is better than the hospital.
birds that are alive do not like hospitals.
sheet bones. medicine bones. dream bones.

cult bones. eye water, white
film light. remembering while floating. black bird
funeral, blood funeral in water. bird tongue
on the table. eyes in the water.
brain in the sink. flat birds in the street.
song bone. beautiful flying bone.

i don't see any tears

i think it's great that a woman and a black dude are running for president, but, for reals, why does everyone have to be so racist and sexist about it? like, any time obama puts any "flavor" into his speech people are like, "oh hells no! he's trying to be black now!" and this morning the big topic on talk radio was whether or not hillary clinton is sexy. they were saying things like, "do you notice she doesn't wear v-necklines anymore? she's trying to be asexual." and what is up with everyone saying she cried last week?

hillary is wonderful. back up.

i am political now

this is me and the heart-shaped cutout i made of hillary clinton's face. i watched her give her new hampshire victory speech last night, and for the first time i let myself imagine her as actually becoming the president. and i had this feeling like if that happened, my world view would completely change. suddenly, it would be a world where dreams come true. where the impossible happens. where good triumphs. before last night i have never believed hillary could win. she is a woman. i would not let hillary in. but now, look. she has won me.

ah, hillary you vixen. you have stolen my heart.

figure 1. by megan martin

"i have a thing inside me"

i stole that line from blake butler's blog and wrote this:

the air is empty but i have a thing inside me
i have several families living in my chest
i am going to open my own store and sell only
things that i especially like. puppets, diet coke,
spell books, beautiful rocks. i am going to sell
these things to the families in my arteries
some of the people in the families die. there is a funeral
in my kneecap. the grandmother throws herself
into the grave. the children play at empty plots
some of the people in the families say maybe they’ll call
which means they will not call. one person says
he will walk again, which means he will roll into his grave
and my knee will snap. there isn’t any time in the air
all time is encased in skin. it is new year
it is a rolling ocean and empty air and a grandmother
haunting my fingernail. it is a bright sun and a mother
under my eyelid, complaining of the heat.

i don't know how to get out of the sky

i am made out of electricity.
i am always disappointing you.
i am not what you wanted, i feel dizzy
at the south pole. i pant from disorientation,
it makes me sad how the magnetic fields are changing.
north and south are moving towards each other.
when they meet they will hang over the continents.
everyone will have vertigo and fall down.

i don’t trust the compass. north is not good enough
for me anymore. north is not what i hoped
it would be. i hope north feels very bad
about itself. and the guilt! north will become bloated
from eating its feelings and roll over into the east.
everyone will bleed from their ears and jump into the ocean.

good. i am pissed.

i smoked cigarettes until i got an ear infection. i cried and all the tears
went up my nose. i am pissed at you.
when a plane flies by i don’t know which way is east.
i cannot see the sun and don’t know which way is east.
i look at the compass but don’t believe what it says. electricity could be
involved. when electricity is involved you cannot believe anything.
it makes me dizzy having electricity around all day.
the altitude is killing natural magnetism. east is going extinct.
east is selfish and will never get married.
east smokes too many cigarettes.
east is fucking the north and having illegitimate children.

i am never going to get out of here.
the only way is down.

pedro is dead.

the hot air balloonist is sleeping

(a bear, a native american and an auto mechanic are in the balloon).

bear: did you see that chameleon float by? it was the color of air.

auto mechanic: this hot air balloon has a flat tire and a false bottom. i don’t like deception and i don’t like poor vehicular maintenance.

native american: there should be a word for water without a bottom.

bear: i wish that chameleon would come back. that chameleon and i had something. i hate it when that chameleon is offline.

hot air balloonist: i don’t have wi-fi in this hot air balloon. i think you have mistaken yourself for the internet.

native american: my eyes are water and my hair is water and my heart is water. my pillow is water and my liver is water and my teeth are water.

hot air balloonist: i don’t feel like writing right now. i am going to go swimming in the balloon pool.

native american: i am water and my people are water.

auto mechanic: if you hadn’t let all the air out we wouldn’t have this problem. now there is no air left and everything is blue. that is not right. things should be clear but instead they are blue.

hot air balloonist: uh-oh. this hot air balloon is not a duck boat.

bear: that chameleon has opened my heart in one thousand ways.

the balloon without pedro is boring

i wish a bear would float by.
are there any bears in america? if a bear
was in my balloon with me we would hold hands.
the bear could not operate the mechanisms because
of no thumbs but i could take care of that
i have been playing solitaire for 4 days.

you take rejection so hard.
i didn’t want to throw you overboard but
we were sinking and i was tired of your vocabulary.
rejection can be funny if you laugh. laughter makes the thing
become funny. i am playing two hands of solitaire at once now
i will not let the devil beat me.

when i hated you i was thinking of someone else.
i saw people’s faces in the trees and confused you
with someone cold and heavy. i don’t really know
anything about your temperature or density or whether
you could operate the mechanisms. it doesn’t matter.
when i loved you i was thinking of someone else.

there should be a word for every kind of hot air balloon that exists

i met pedro in the air. he was collecting letters. he was assembling pieces of cloud.

i told pedro about the oldest form of human-carrying flight technology. he told me about a fire-starter in his village. she had a flame halo.

pedro went away to discover new fire words. “there should be a word for every kind of fire that exists” he said.

“there is a flame in this hot air balloon” i said.

“humans have explored the entire horizontal world, but they rarely think to explore vertically,” i said.

pedro and i are in love.

i taught pedro about how the oldest form of human-carrying flight technology started with floating eggshells and airborne lanterns. pieces of things went into the air before humans went into the air. birds are not included in this.

“people think too much about birds” pedro said.

i think too much about people. the tree line looks like a silver dollar when it reflects the sun. it makes the shape of a man’s face.

pedro is not even writing a new language. he is confused. he thinks he is in school right now. he thinks the air is a chalkboard.

“i am on my 49th word for fire!” pedro said.

i am going to throw pedro overboard. pedro and i are not in love.

Interview with a Hot Air Balloonist

Hot Air Balloonist Magazine: Are you a hot air balloonist?

Hot Air Balloonist: Yes.

HABM: Why did you become a hot air balloonist?

HAB: Someone stole my bicycle.

HABM: Has anyone ever stolen your hot air balloon?

HAB: No.

HABM: What is the best part about the job?

HAB: Going up. The small flame. The thinning air.

HABM: What is the most challenging part about the job?

HAB: Getting down.

HABM: How do you manage to get down?

HAB: I find heavy things in the sky. On a clear day it can be difficult. The passengers are not much help. Once we get to the tree line it’s easier. Branches are heavy.

HABM: Do the passengers enjoy the ride?

HAB: They feel happy before we go up and after we come down. While we’re in the air they think about other things. One lady got upset when she had to throw her handbag and shoes over the side. They were weighing us down. Sometimes they try to take home a bit of cloud as a souvenir. They get frustrated when they can’t. They are generally unhappy people.

HABM: How long have you been a hot air balloonist?

HAB: A man tied thousands of helium balloons to a lawn chair and floated around his neighborhood. He hovered over his dog and waved at his dog.

HABM: Are you going up right now?

HAB: Yes.

HABM: Do you think hot air ballooning is still a viable form of travel?

HAB: It doesn’t...moment...giraffe knees...

HABM: I can’t hear you anymore. Can you hear me?

HAB:..........

HABM: Do you have any words of advice for young aspiring hot air balloonists?

HAB:...........

Notes from the Window

Is it unlikely? The turpentine has evaporated.
At closed doors I am dark
shadowing the unusual light of winter orange
glow absorbed and lulled:
trash cans, stadiums of light.
My clock set, I enhance numerically,
absorbed by orange; numerical because
no one tries to number me; not that I have nothing
that can be counted, I might have some new kind of code.
I might as well shout, “I have depth of feeling!”
Sewer moss bursts in light
and the slippery morning looks like this:

timeline

first: the day you were born and i dropped you in the water.

word: the day all of my hair fell onto the floor like a mass of paper clips clicking.

cold: the day the man in blue shorts swam across our living room. how did he get through the door, how did your laughter pour him like water.

and again: the day the plant died for revenge and thirst. we took to the salt mines. we dug and we dug and we came up with one red wagon, one piece of coal. one blueberry to put in the freezer and one chicken fillet to coddle and fit to a bonnet.

foretold: the day you came home and said, “i am not made for swimming through the neighborhood we need a raft.” we took our car and drove out onto the lake, a dark sparkle on the water. we bought you a new dress made of evening and topped with lampshade. we shielded our eyes from the glare.

fracture: the day you said “i need a chicken to cluck, a rope to jump. i need a wig to brush to cover my lighted head. you are too much for me, we can’t talk anymore.”

and lull: doing laundry doing laundry doing laundry. growing out my hair.

the dig: we will not always have the daylight. she has broken me into pieces and now i am leaning out the window to find them, and I am losing the lamp. I am belittling the yard which only grows in the dark.

the twins: you took out the trash for your birthday. a thousand pieces of glass danced a shining portrait. you are cinderella and i am the locked door.

age: “mama hit me with a prefix deliver me away.”

date unknown: the day i lost my vocabulary. a napoleon has taken over the country and there are bursts of light everywhere. i don’t know where my rainwater is. i have taken to the road. on both sides are rushing green, specks of light, the wheat fields and the traveling wells.

word: the day my hair came back in a sprout of glory and the water streamed at both ends.

pursuit: you now radiate like an onion peel lit from beneath. you were always grown into the dirt, a daphne running for the river, you have been sealed at the root.

death: “he showed up glistening. you are an ivory tower, give me your hair. i lowered a hot wire and a cat clawing. an electric bundle and a blue spark. this is how I cry out.”

date unknown: i opened all the letters. not one light bulb folded into any of them.

a day with the baron and his family by jorin bossen

jorin bossen made this at an art party a couple of years ago.

it has been on my refrigerator ever since then.

he probably doesn't remember making it.

he probably doesn't remember me.

jorin, i am shannon's friend. kathy.

1,000 recoveries

if i stopped eating it would be like you stopped drinking. if we ate and drank it would be like we rolled around in the mud. in the rain. let’s build a shelter. with pancakes for breakfast. when you go to the store it’s like i’ll visit your grave. at the petting zoo let’s make pies. say you’ll stop smoking. say i’ll stop lighting fires under the house. we need a system. if you stopped with your literacy it would be like i found a baby on the stoop. everyday i’ll stop. it is like this.

megan and tracy told me to post something new so i will but it probably won't be today. possibly it will be tomorrow or saturday. i am not kidding.

to my faithful readers megan and tracy,

i am astounded that you read this blog.

love,

k

The Photograph

It had to have been
a fake. Take this head
in your bag, for example.
Fake. Not real, not even
close. I can see the white
Styrofoam through the makeup,
for example, how I look
in the morning.

My left shoe finally caught
up with my right. It said you,
miss, are a criminal.
It's time to put that gun down.

This sky looks suspicious,
too blue and too
low to the ground.
That is not a bomb, it is a burst
of light, not to be confused
with photosynthesis.
That ticking is music and not
what it could be.

Like what I'd like
to know about you
and that church you leveled.
For example, my teeth
and the way they are shining
white in the dirt.

nothing good is happening online right now

q: what are you doing

a: counting the spaces

q: name one bad thing

a: waking up with you. waking up with the dent of you. going online at 3am and finding you still glowing. the milk cannot be touching anything else. it won't work. would you like to be face to face and not in cyberspace?

q: when i open my mouth you

a: turn down the music. the phone is always an unknown caller. the milk cannot touch the place "from whence it came." we were in the christmas aisle, casually, and then i woke up hollering. i wasn't crying, it was nighttime everything was blue that is why water gives that appearance.

q: christmas is not good because

a: quiet graves

q: when you say counting the spaces do you mean between plots or between words or between faces as in spaces have faces or do you mean

a: you shouldn't drink coffee at night because you will wake up with your mouth open and sometimes a sound will be coming out and you won't know it as your own until you realize the tv is not on and the alarm is not set.

q: and the phone is not ringing

a: she told her best friend. she said, my husband is in the mob. simple. then he shot her dead. it was me that time, he shot me dead. i was wearing his jacket when three bullets came through it. then i put the gun to my head. i said i love you i promise don't kill me.

q: so then you got up and went to work

a: my head is in different spaces. right now it is on the train traveling southbound. southeast, if you want to know exactly. everything that's lovely gives off light. her mouth in space at 3am, a moonrise.

these remembering things

we thought something terrible had happened.

we thought the awful smell was coming from the cabinets
or that the nation was under attack because the couch had changed colors.

he said i’d like to introduce you to this person i won’t admit to knowing. say pleased to meet you.

he said i can’t talk to you when you’re this negative and i said i can’t talk to you when you’re this tan and when i’m trying to drink water and it is so goddamn hot. i said i know you have been hiding things since january, what i am trying to figure out is where you found the space.

he said i’m sorry, i don’t know anyone by that name.

we thought we had grown past this. we thought we had moved on to more affirming types of people.
we thought writing was some kind of tranquilizer, like nighttime or television.

she said i love to remember these beautiful remembering things.
i think she hasn’t learned the word memories.

she said i think something died at wabash and adams. everyone in their cars rolled up their windows and all the people on the street put their hands to their faces. i said do you think it was important?
she said it was close to the library.

in my old town there were plenty of cemeteries to wander around in but in this town there’s just street.
miller’s pub has a new flashing sign, have you seen it?

he said i don’t know what you mean by that.

what i mean is that i thought something terrible had happened but really the terrible thing had already happened and what i was doing was remembering.

As I Said is over

I am not going to post any more of As I Said. I will post other things now.

As I Said: 15

As I Said: 14

What if there were two of me and only one of you
What if one of me was at the bottom of the ocean and the other
stood at the shore looking at the water
What if you wanted me but did not know
that I am really under water, way down under loads of waves
and whales and starfish, hiding in a clam, a pearl in my mouth
What if I told you that you must speak my other name
What if the other you was a thousand miles away
in a hot desert buried under quicksand filling your mouth and eyes
What could either of us say with all of that weight on top of us
so far below the surface of the earth

whatever it is they are against it

some of these poems are now posted on 3:am magazine.

thank you tao

As I Said: 13

I need to find a whale
to get swallowed by