this brain is full of glitches matted trees doorstops inside my wrists this brain gallops the length of this body corridors open windows massive doorknobs this giant yellow house these pink roller skates my mother’s twister boards this brain goes for a swim in the pool in the chest the brilliant clean blue god is there it thunders this pool becomes an ocean this god becomes a kitchen mouse a pocket watch my grandfather’s hairy hands lift it up my brain…

look! the stars were here. their black holes, their empty watering places. the memory of light. they swam these dark channels, they gathered up the coals and cast them down to god. their dragon breath, their dragon heads bowed everything burning everything turning redder as each flower of morning pulls the night over its head.

There was a church under the church under the stones under my granddaddy's pew there was a dark mouth a narrow stairwell a hungry maw. The was a church situated exactly on top of the church I could look up during the prayer and see it hovering a chicken-wire parade float outfitted with Angel wings. There was a church inside the church inside the hearts of the congregation the baptized heads the earnest-in- prayer claspings of hands I wriggled inside this…

In my most recent inventory I found that I cannot wear the new boots, the beautiful things are useless to me. I cannot wear the new blazer, the sleeves are a disaster, the bickering ladies have ruined my flowy black pants the pockets having shrunk up suitable only for finger babies. Here is the blue cardy and here is the pink cardy and here are the eight-thousand eight hundred and twenty-two babies, babies large and babies small enough for match boxes…

I am ensconced I am cottoned-up I am a smooth blue rock. I am hiding in some places where monsters can't see me. It's raining. Perhaps I should clarify perhaps I have come to the world’s end a long valley with nothing in it I am safe, I am beyond God’s reach. Perhaps I should tell you that I am no criminal I am no snitch I am loyal to a fault but I cannot sleep at night I cannot hold…

"Please, little one, take the first pat of butter and the first spoon of jam. Take the finest pair of slippers and the very largest clot of cream. Take up the choicest grasses and the clearest water to keep for yourself. And the dandelions. And the runt of every litter. Take down the farthest star and pop it into your mouth every night. When morning comes, I will fly into your room and place a living coal on your tongue and…

The poems are not writing themselves they are writing me some deep river in me an electric cord a space heater too close to the tub they are tightening the spring in me the jack in the box held under the pasture pond its hideous face growing slack no more sick surprise no more finder's keepers one potato two potato there were never enough closets to hide in the old shack behind the barn is missing the old piano is breaking…

I should have been writing these last long weeks, but I have not. I found myself exhausted and quite to the point of stopping on the side of the road and just sitting down with my luggage like a worn out refugee fleeing the wars. So much has been going on, for instance--two weeks ago I had a torn retina that had to be repaired which was a surreal adventure to say the least. And also I got James' labs back…

"how much energy do you have? how many spoons?" I have joined the Y yet again. I've never been able to make a membership with the Y stick the way I want it to, but as I have been contemplating my own death I thought about what I would regret. Other than the obvious not taking care of my body, not listening to my body, becoming pretty much disabled at this point, I did think that I would miss having not…

So I am an HSP. A Highly Sensitive Person. I have heard this term over the past few months and I thought that it was just another fad,  another way to explain the obvious, but I see now that it is actually a recognized (since the 1990s) personality trait, or rather a set of personality traits that signifies behavior patterns in a person. This should probably not be surprising to me or anyone else who knows me, and when my husband…