Where do they all go
the unspoken words
Do they melt, into nothingness
burning in the backs of our throats
Or delve into the blue deepness of our thoughts
a sunken treasure
I think they hitch rides
with the hopeless
and the heartbroken
Sitting heavy on shoulders

And I'm walking with the weight of the world
and I'm walking with the weight of the world

At age 7, I was guilty
when I accepted an invitation
to go into the apartment of a neighbor
He smelled of beer as he groped me.

At age 10, I was guilty
when I walked home too late
because I missed the train
He popped out of the bushes
exposing himself.

At age 12, I was guilty
when my uncle forced
tongue into my mouth
because I could not
get away.

At age 14, I was guilty
when my uncle forced
me to sit on his lap
while in my bathing suit
and I ran away from home.

At age 16, I was guilty
when my uncle convinced
everyone that I was a liar
and I quit school.

At age 18, I was guilty
when I gave birth to
my first child,
because I was ignorant.

At age 20, I was guilty
when I saw the cardiologist
in the reflection of a lamp
*******  and the
police laughed at my report.

At age 30, I was guilty
when my employer
trapped me in the elevator
to ***** me, because I
was his subserviant.

At age 36, I was guilty
when I earned jujitsu honors
but risked going to jail
for defending myself.

At age 70, I was guilty
when a neighbor brought
me fruit and grabbed my
breast, because I was alone.

At age 72, I am guilty
of being a ferule woman
for 50 years and for
NOT be silent!

In apple growing-warmth,
I found oceans between eyelashes and Pacific air.

Ligamented with smoke, skeleton hands crafted cigarettes of honey and curling floral sweetness.

For soft-haired royalty, I bowed my heart and washed my skin in space and rainy wishes.

I drowned myself in polish remover, to show the stripped beauty of love and life
to a sun who lives off alcohol and notions of wouldn't it be nice?

But I, the noiseless patient spider,
who has flung gossamer after thread,
am reaching for nothing but an earth flower,
One who I thought loved me,
or at least that’s what she said.
((one who sees through rose-pink eyeglasses,
and speaks in feathered song.))

Still, I sleep well under starless skies,
where urban northern lights burn the dark,
charred there by city windows and boundless passing cars.

Here, I wrap myself in a cloth galaxy,
and I paint the sun with blackberry juice,
trading gold and diamonds for the simple hope
that someone might live up to you.

The moon still watches over us
but it doesn’t glow like it used to
It basked you in twilight
reflecting every smile,
every gaze, every hair
and every inch of skin
like a Monet painting
Before my eyes.
But now,
my prized possession,
is missing.
Hung up in
someone else’s museum,
across the world it seems.
Now I cannot paint
without my inspiration,
my muse.
And I can’t bring my fingers
away from your beauty,
trapped behind
twilight glass.

What are you going to do, Poet?
Pen hot words in the open air?

The winds will carry them off,
My fortress will rumble on and on.

And what will you do, Scientist?
I am the one with the gun.

I will place a sanction on your head
If ever it won't feed my metal stomach.

Far off, in government buildings
They house the organs of a secret beast
And I am growing certain there is coordinated effort
To sterilize the love of people like me.

Here I contemplate the possibility of representatives
And I ponder their fates:
Does my hero meet untimely end
In these evil united states?

A sad, sad legacy left by poets
This is one for the groaning heap
They'll burn it, oh-- they'll burn it all
And how will I find sleep?

The snow is thin and pale today
like that girl –
you thought –
from the Home Depot –
the palette of an empty day

I think, instead
to smooth my hand along your arm
extend dominion 'cross your chest
To till the damp ***** of your shoulder
in surging heat
of earthen tones
to find in winter flames
your brow, your cheek, your neck

...your mouth that way...

This is the braille I'm all about
being far-sighted
and just too close
to even focus on you –
your eyes –
and all
the loss
these days