I love with a dangerous, reckless abandon
Fire and no hint of shame
Occasionally with a lover in tandem
I’ll be laughing and crying the same
I fall in and out, seeming at random
And play at love like a game

She, however— quite the contrary—
Travels so slowly she’s almost inert
She approaches my cavern, ever so wary
Afraid that, again she’ll be hurt
Time is her friend, the yellow canary
If it falls silent; she’ll up and desert

don't eat the green ones,
for they bring upon sudden rain
that slicks the roads on a Q....t night

don't touch the yellow ones,
for they cause mechanisms to fail
upending lives in a matter of a moment

and for God's sake, don't taste the red ones,
for they are laced with poison
far deadlier than cyanide smoke.

hold tight to your coin, the one whose year
adds to thirteen. perhaps it will save you
from the danger of counting to three.

make no plans following your shift
for the gods of fortune do not favor the prepared
nor those who stitch their patches on too soon

you'll come to loathe the moon,
her face, shown in full, driving mad the insecure
and away the rolling lights.

no boots off until midnight,
lest you be called impertinent, and proven so
by the savior bell's ironic sense of humor

follow these rules to survive.
question not why they are told, for it is better
to wonder in safety
than to tempt the unfair Lady known as Luck.

Dolly, Dolly, play with me
let's braid your curly hair
dress you up and take you out
where everyone can see

Dolly, Dolly, sleep with me
let's curl up here in bed
I'll be your warmth if you lie still
and give in to my every dream

Dolly, Dolly, look at me
why do you not respond?
I'm calling you, Dolly, dear
why aren't you returning?

Dolly, Dolly, I'm sorry, dear
I haven't time to wait
my fingers ache, my body breaks
I must be leaving here

Dolly, Dolly, buried there
six feet under my creation
Here Lies Dolly, Beloved Plaything
played to death by strangulation.

the girl made of paper sits by the sill
contemplative and morose
she struggles but cannot find the will
to break from her comatose

she dips her eyelashes in kerosene
and strikes the wooden match
when, oh when, will this waking dream
from her living world detach?

fertility hath left her bleeding
those virile meadows scorched
she knows her youth is fleeting
yet she cannot put out this torch

this girl, set ablaze by selfish desire
howls up in wrath at the moon
why, oh why, does this unending fire
burn hottest to those near'st the tomb?

A baby clutches his mother’s dress
Unaware of how it will save his life
Unwary of the saving grace that will come to rest
The child is soft and clean
His name is Eugenius, the second of three
After Richard, before Michal
He is just a babe, no bigger than an infant can be

A toddler clutches his mother’s dress, the hem
Unaware of tragedy
Unwary of the Horror that awaits him
The child is frightened and shaking
His name is Gene, the second of three
After Richard, before Michal
He is just a little one, no taller than Mama’s knee

A child clutches his mother’s hand
Unaware from behind her skirt as they are herded
Unwary of the disaster to come from the cart
His name is Genie, the second of three
Before Mikey, after Richie
He is just a child, no higher than Tata’s knee

A boy holds his brother’s hand tight
Unaware of the danger he is in
Unwary that the coin from Mama’s skirts will save his life
The boy is healthy and strong, though not for long
His name is Gene, the second of three
Before Michal, after Richard
He is naïve, but soon to grow up prematurely

A prisoner holds his own shirt, unsure
Unaware of the pain that is coming
Unwary that he shall walk away nevermore
The prisoner is hurting and ******
His name is “Gefangene,” the second of two
After Richard, before the crimson mess
He is crying for a ****** towel carried by

A handicap clutches Mama’s leg
Aware that he cannot cry as she shuffles him out
Wary that outside her skirts is the hunt
The handicap is hurting so badly
His name is Gene, the second of three
After Richard, before the new bump
He is unwilling to believe

A kaleka holds tight to his brother’s back
Aware that he is a burden
Wary that he is a load
The kaleka is waiting, waiting.
His name is Gene, second of three
After Richard, before Theresa
The kaleka is ready for release

The dziecko holds again to Mama’s skirt
Aware that he is now free to leave
Wary that he will never be independent
The dziecko is elated and mourning
His name is Gene, the second of three
Before Theresa, after Richard
The dziecko will never be the same

Sixty five years later
Gene holds Rosie’s hand tight
Aware that he is old now, having lived fully
Wary that death is imminent at last
The great-grandfather is peaceful and content
His name is Tata, Grandpa, Gene, husband, and more
He is the last one left of his war
The survivor is ready to reunite with his family
He gives thanks to Hattie’s skirts
That kept him alive though the hurts.

i never wanted you
to drown yourself in me,
the rain woman.
drip, drip, drop.

i warned you, once upon a time
to don your heaviest boots:
rubber soles to save your soul.
drip, drip, drop.

i am lightning, burning cold
i am thunder, rolling bold
i am a sigh of agitation:
a hurricane, a summer rain
the cool wet mud, a conflagration.

i am a natural disaster
but your lips are cracked and dry
so you saw in me an oasis
drip, drip, drop.

i wanted to see the desert watered
but i never wanted you
to drown yourself in me.

I love the ambiance, the steady constant of raindrops crashing against the earth
I love how it washes away the pollen and dust
Cleansing the air so I can breathe
I love umbrellas and glossy rain boots in yellow or red
Fat raindrops speeding to bring hope and salvation to the deserted ground
Best of all I love to be completely surrounded by a storm:
Lighting so close it sends a  tingle along your skin and lights up the night like day,
Thunder so crashingly loud it resonates in your stomach and feet,
Stirring the primordial fear of unknown power,
of both darkness and of light
of the shadows and not of what casts them
but of certain illumination wrought with paradox,
The wind that blows up my dress and lifts the hair from my neck
filling my umbrella until I feel weightless
For one glorious moment, I almost believe I may float away with the storm

We cannot help but romanticize the phenomenal
Giving ever-changing names and faces to the forces of nature, believing l
or at least pretending
That they’re alive with us.
And maybe,
in a sense,
They are alive.
Not with us,
But within.

the dream was sweet,
but it has ended.
and now I will not suffer this failure
and rejection
to thicken into a nightmare

I will wake up.
and the day will be brighter,
lit by candles held in vigil
by those whose arms are held open
to thaw me against warm hearts.

I will leave the cozy darkness of night
the blindness of the eve
to venture bravely into the briskness
of the morning,
wiping dew from the window
and embracing whatever storms
the new day should bring,
sheltered by umbrellas
held by those who care.

Our Mother, who art of Terra
Cherished be thy heart
Thy wisdom is needed,
Thy guidance be heeded,
Wherever we arrive or depart.
As is above, so be below;
We ask of thee for our nourishment,
Feed us in body, in mind and in soul
Unite us under the blessed maypole
Even as we strive, to reach and to thrive
In search of individual goals.
Guide us with thy wisdom, towards brighter days ahead
And protect us from all forms of harm that may fall upon our heads
For thou art the Earth, the Mother,
Our Goddess forever and ever.
So mote it be.

You do not get to come to me, brimming with guilt
Once you’ve driven your gleaming knife in up to the hilt,
And preach the virtue of silver, the art of the deal
You did what you did. Sit in it, however badly you feel.

I only hope that when, one day, you look down in shame,
And find in your belly that gleaming blade,
That no one does you the indignity of telling you,
"We survived before. You'll survive this too."

Take me out on a Saturday night
and show me the world
kiss me under the stars
as Venus looks on, blushing
and Mars pumps his fists into the air.
dance me to a chamber filled with
Erotes, and sate their hungry appetites.
wrap your hands in my hair
let me swim in your Nymphetic waters
let us soak in the reverie
and lap up one another's salty waves.
close the distance between us
and rouge my skin with your claws
let Suada have her way with us:
let her persuade us to let go
of Minerva's harsh rule
and give in;
succumb.
Let us remain in this lush place forever
or at least, until Rome falls around us.

Sun-kissed faces
freckled with light-spots
Barefoot ******* races
a season recalled in snapshots.

Boy-crazy, girl-crazy
they scan the shore for a dime
He-said, she-said; it’s warm and gold and hazy
nights so clear, stars glitter in skies sublime.

Innocence and wide-eyed bliss
forgetting the woes of the cold
Fingers interlace, heartbeats go amiss
steeping the hours in sunshine and gold.

Somewhere between eggshells and landmines
Were the creaking floors upon which I played
Carefully, for her wrath could be detonated
At a footfall, just a bit too heavy
From a word uttered under the breath
A mess left too long in the sink.

But her embrace was warm,
Wrapping around me like sheets from the dryer
And when she put on pause her own life
To tend to me at my sick-bed,
Her eyes showed only tender love.
“My baby goat,” she would say, affectionately,
And leave a kiss upon my feverish brow.

She is a living contradiction, my mother:
Churning disapproval shattering the gleam
That she put into the hopeful eyes of a child
Just a moment before.
I lived in perpetual uncertainty,
Never knowing which mother I might see next:
The raven or the hen.

And now she looks at me with disappointment,
Wondering aloud why her children fear her.
Her capriciousness eroded away any trust
And much of the fondness as well
Her hot-blooded adoration
And her ice-cold tantrums
Have mixed so long now
All that is left is
Lukewarm like the bathwater
Left over from when the
Baby was thrown out.