So guys, I didn't want to mention this at the coffee shop, Y'know, in front of all the angels and the normies, But I'm building an arc inside my ribcage. It's sorta weird, I know, I just, I don't have the insurance to get it checked out I've already swallowed a hundred dandelion parachutes too many And with that starscape tattooed on my bellybutton showing through the tears in my flannel This is happening whether I want it to or not, the flood may not be coming But there are five of every animal showing up in my dreams Piling into my pockets Clawing up my pant legs There are pterodactyls nesting in my hair Don't giggle, I don't have the insurance to get this checked out. It's complicated. See, everything looks like a storm out of the corner of your eye And my nervous system can spot a thing to worry about catalog it Instagram it Build a shelter against it Miles before my conscious mind can even catch it's gaze That's how you make me feel, Ponyboy, glass knuckles, buttercream daylight Cigarrette powderkeg flick You looked like a landmine and a shoreline You fought my shivers with your eyelashes And made me feel like an oak tree That may or may not be about to be set on fire for someone else's sins In a way that's always tempting until it happens but is definitely definitely a bad thing, Except a beautiful bad thing that I am so immature to find beautiful But it feels innocent to be lost in your blue eyes everywhere but retrospect I don't have the insurance to get this checked out. I didn't bargain for this cardboard sea I didn't know what I was doing when I saw you in the wreckage and held you like an anchor I built this arc by the glow of a paper moon Through the stained glass discoball tyedye splashes on the cracked lenses of my glasses I won't know what this nest of promises is made of Until the water is at our ankles And there's nothing left to prove

Honey, there is nothing radio about me Nobody can smooth polish onto the chipping stumble of my bumbling stutter My rhythms can never float to a practiced drummer There is a metronome in my poembox that always points to the ocean My creative process is running to the shore breathless and barefoot And trying to breathe in the entire Atlantic In a pulsing tug of war Filling my lungs with glowfish and ghost eels Searching on the intake of hungry storyquake For the experience of feeling everything at once I am the lanky kid on the beach with seaweed in my hair And no car to return to I cannot be a woman for you But I can be a person for me I'm not a smooth jazz sonata I'm a jaywalker in a silly hat And my best poems are the ones I haven't found yet I heard they live in tent cities in the deepest jungles of my fever And I fear I will someday be one of them. Until then Do not look at me like a flower I have used the word "blooming" in a hundred poems But I will never dare invoke "bloom" past tense This forest is so dense I can smell the ink of novels that haven't been born yet On the coastlines of the spreading vines There are glowfish and ghost eels Making radiowire nests in the branches Honey There is something radio about me, I am the wavecrest of contradictions popcrackling in the static My stutter has-my stutter has a pattern And I am singing to the open air before I learn it You can find me by turning that pop song one click of the dial to the side Looking the sun straight in the eye Then watching the corners of the patterns it casts On everything else Look for me there And tell me what you find, I'm still searching myself