2 by tommy "Teebs" pico
from Nature Poem
It took tons
for me to come to this relationship
with even a thin crust mantle of optimism.
You say to yrself, into the mirror, the humidifier misting behind you—
Okay, first a selfie—
You say, I’m going to do this. We’re doing this. Slipping into love like sleep.
What is it inside nature
that turns a color into danger,
a season into a reminder of sitting across each other across a tinny table, copperish,
unseasonably hot in our tall bodies no shade
while I waited
for the words I knew were coming.
Evolution is not very Victoria Beckham
is a thing I felt like saying
to myself on the subway ride home. And, when will my neck finally be long enough to
reach the leaves
in the canopy?
from Nature Poem
The stars are dying
like always, and far away, like what you see looking up is a death knell from light,
years. But also close, like the sea stars on the Pacific coast. Their little arms lesion
and knot and pull away
The insides spill into the ocean. Massive deaths. When I try to sleep I think about
orange cliffs, bare of orange stars. Knotted, glut. Waves are clear. Anemones n shit.
Sand crabs n shit. Fleas. There are seagulls overhead. Business as normal. I swore to
myself I would never write a nature poem.
The sand is fine. They say it’s not Fukushima. I feel fine, in the sense that I feel very
thin. I been doin Tracy Anderson DVDs and keeping my arms fit and strong. She says
reach, like you are being pulled apart
I can’t not spill, sometimes it sometimes. What you see is what you glut. There are
TOMMY “TEEBS" PICO was a Queer/Art/Mentors inaugural fellow, 2013 Lambda Literary poetry fellow, and has poems in BOMB, Guernica, and [PANK]. Originally from the Viejas Indian reservation of the Kumeyaay nation, he lives in Brooklyn and co-curates the reading series POETS WITH ATTITUDE with Morgan Parker. @heyteebs