be a rock for her jetting out of the water
that she can lean on for awhile
when she’s tired of swimming.

If you can’t say something to make her
feel better, just listen. And hold her in the frame
that she came to you in.

If you can’t explain what happened
don’t wrack your brains to try. Don’t use cliches.
Just take each moment one at a time.

no one will. Everyone has
left me. They said I had too much
on my plate. Well, what the **** –
I wouldn’t be coming here if

things were great. I guess they
want the easy cases, the ones you can
fix in a few weeks. Not a psychotic woman
who acts impulsively. Not a woman who

****** her shrink, stripped for another
and wrote about them all in the books
she sells on Amazon. Not one who

runs to the licensing boards whenever
they misbehave. Not one who files
lawsuits and collects the ****** wage. Not one
who knows her stuff and can analyze them! And

has many times shrunk the boys down
who thought they were men. If you don’t do
it, no one will. We’ve been back and forth for
fourteen years. And I’m no better still.

then why should I? Why should I
invest my time in something
that has no future? If you don’t
meet me halfway then there’s no way

that I’m holding up your end. I’ll let it
fall. And this ship will sink. We’ve been *******
stalling too long. No more. I’m not budging.
This is my final offer.

you won’t get it. You better
adjust your bar. It’s been
too low –
something that near the ground
only attracts snakes.

Look, we all have baggage
we carry around. There’s a zipper
at the end. You can either
take some out
or add more in.
I have enough of my own.
Don't know where you've been
or how you got broken. But I can't

fix it. I'm not your therapist. And I
don't play one on TV either.  If you
don't like this -
See Ya!

something nice
to say
don’t say anything. Silence
does not condone. It states everything
without saying anything
hurtful at all.

If you don’t have
something to ad
that would make
it better. Stay out
of the situation
all together.

take what it has

it’s because it’s pouring
in my heart. If you don’t see
the pain in my eyes it’s because
the shades are drawn. They’ve

had to be to live in my
reality. If you don’t hear a word
from me it’s because my tongue is
tied inside my cheeks. If I don’t reach out

to you it’s because my shoulders
have fallen from the weight I’ve been
carrying along with me. You can take
stabs and guesses but you’ll never know

what it’s like to be me.

money
I’ll only spend it
until it’s all gone.

If you give me
sugar
I’ll inhale it.
Get a fix.
And then when the high
is a soft-sobbing sigh
I’ll need another
and another
cause I’m never satisfied.

If you give me
compliments
it will make me happy
for a moment
and then
I’ll always be
expecting them.

If you give me
Love
well, that’s all I need

of my love it fit you like
a velvet glove, molded to your
leather hand, wrapped around
your fingers like a rubber band, cutting off
your circulation. You'd be growing
a new mutation.

If you held a drop
of my pain it crush you like
a freight train. You'd be cut off from
the wrist. Your veins hanging
into a gnarly twist.

If you held a drop
of my sweat, a tiny pearl
be a threat. It burn a hole inside
your palm as if someone dropped
an hydrogen bomb.

If you held a drop
of my tears, for all the years
I wept inside my hands you'd fill
the oceans and the seas. I’m not a pluck
of hair you can tweeze.

don’t go in winter. The ground
will harden. The trees will
splinter. My breath will hang
in the hair like a cloud of smoke
if you disappear.

If you leave
don’t go in spring. The rose won’t
flower. The lark won’t sing. My kite
won’t fly without a string. Don’t cut
the ties your happiness brings.

If you leave
don’t go in summer. The angry sky
bangs like a drummer. The sun bakes
and the lake’s whitecap churns. And I’d die
if you don’t return.

If you leave
don’t go in autumn. The golden
crimson leaves blossom. The apples
are pulled from their stems. Friends
hold hands around the bonfire. I beg of you
not to retire.

long enough
you’re going to get burned

No one comes out clean
except a stillborn

If I disturb you
unnerve you
then I’ve done something

a broken mirror
your face will be cracked

If you look at a solid mirror
with a broken soul
your face will be cracked also

But if you are whole
you need not look at the mirror
at all

in the morning with my mascara eyes sewed
together as spider’s legs and my matted hair
strung across my face looking as a homeless
woman who slept on a park bench
all night, whose breath has a stench
as a garbage truck, and still kiss my mouth
then you’ll love me always, without a doubt.

If you love me in the afternoon
when I keep calling you at work because
I’m in one of my nasty moods and you’ve
nothing better to do than to listen to me
complain then you’ll love me always, the same.

If you love me late at night when I can’t
sleep and toss and turn and keep you up
till way past dawn with my snoring when you’ve
got another busy day ahead of you
then you’ll love me always. This is true.

the olive
you’ll get oil.

If you puree
the apple
you’ll get sauce.

If you squeeze
the orange
you’ll get juice.

If you cut
the bean down the middle
you’ll get vanilla

When you break
something open
you extract something
beautiful, made in
the process. It will only
rot staying intact. It needs
metamorphosis

Darling I see you
metamorphosing in front
of me.

a gale of wind
and you’re knocked
down to the ground,
along with all your

needles.  Makes
a dance floor
for the wood boring
beetles. If you were thick

as a cow your fallen
bough men can rest their
rumps on. Even stumps
from the trees make

a cool seat. But you’re thin
as an old ****, with worms for
hair and a lair for tunneling
mites. Your ballroom days

are but a maize the cows
graze on. A trough is not
a sweet spot to sit on.

be a mountain
be Everest!
Never rest till you rise
to the highest.

If you’re going to
be an ocean
be the Pacific!
Prolific
in all endeavors.
Deep inside you –
a box of treasures.

If you’re going to
be a car
be a Ferrari!
Cut through the air
in a breeze
at top speed.

If you're going to
don't wait!
Don't look back
and say, "it's much too late".

hit me hard
hanging me from a rope tied to a tree
as a Piñata of blue, purple, and red
till all the sweet in me
spills and spreads
and the boys and girls run to pick up
the flying candy
I’ll die as a cavity in their teeth

shatter it in smithereens
exploding the pieces as a potato
in a microwave
so, my bits stick to the sides
in a mushy yellowy resin
I’ll die in a potato heaven

If you’re going to break my heart
pin me down as a frog
on a tray
as I lay split me open
pulling out my organs
starting with the heart
and ending with the lungs
serve my legs in a cuisse de grenouille
with a chunk of brie
I’ll die a delicacy

you can wear a pretty dress and fix your face
go out shopping and throw away your money
**** your honey
stuff your yourself with ice-cream and cake
drink until you stumble across the room
write your heart’s content out and post it all over the internet
tell somebody off
break the mirror
throw a vase
save the whales
play music in your ears
drown out everything
but if you’re not happy with yourself
nothing else will matter
the empty pit in your gut
will never be filled
with material things or someone else
in fact, nothing is going to fill
the emptiness that is with you still

as the sun melts down
like butter
but only as it rises
don’t act surprised if
if I roll off you
as the morning dew

If you’re not there
as grey clouds
pour shrouds of pelting rain
but only as the rainbow
bridges the sky
I’ll form wings and fly

If you’re not there
as the oak grows bare
in the thick of the winter
as the trees splinter
don’t step at all
as golden, crimson
marmalade blanket shade
in the fall

expect them to lambaste you like
you’re a roast in the oven. You’ll come out
being salty. They’ll carve you for their
dinner, along with your saturated liver. They’ll

have you on a platter. And pass you around
like a cup of tea from the Mad Hatter’s. There’s
no going around this, even if you’re a lazy
Susan. Because by the time they are done with you –

your heart will take a bruising.

the full moon is
a bowl of honey
you can lick it
with a spoon
till it slides
down your tummy

If you think
the mountain
is a stairway to heaven
you can climb
up the steps
and be back for dinner
at seven

If you think
life’s a beach
a walk in the sand
within reach
you’ll make a splash
in the waves

But….

If you think
this world
is a grey rainy day
you’ll hide
under a bubble umbrella
till the first of May

when would you
become me?
when I first saw you–
hanging
on the tree
when I pulled you
briskly
claimed you as mine
when I peeled your layers off
one at a time
raised you up
to my mouth
when you were
inside
when you became
the juice
when you were swimming
in my stomach fluids
when you happened
to be resting in my intestines
when you became
my burp
my indigestion?

my minutes so he wouldn’t
have to look at a screen from early
in the morning until the black
of the evening settled.

I gave
this heart to him. And all I
received for it is
a bottle of *****
and a floating olive
stuffed with a jalapeños.

I gave
my blindness. Sick of sticking out last
like a caboose Now I’m cutting off
the tie and letting myself
loose.

my deepest, darkest secrets
bolted in a wooden trunk.
All my junk stored in the attic.
And he stood static like the cobwebs
hanging from the ceiling.

I gave him
my hairless trim body.
The ******* the half shell
spilling her sweet perfume.
In full bloom, spreading out like
eagle wings, as he held
all the strings.

I gave him
my poetry.
He ate it down like candy,
lollipops and gumdrops
toffee flavored brandy.

I gave him
my photograph
cut out in a locket.
He threw it in his pocket
and forgot it.
The colors bled out
in the wash.

I gave him
my pneuma.
He pounced on it
like a puma in the grass.
I was the air he'd come
to pass.

my pieces
aged and shattered
and all that mattered
was for you to hold them
in your hands
but you crushed them
as shells on the beach
and they fell –
powder at your feet

I gave you
my heart
weak and bruised
and all that mattered
was for you to place it next to yours
but it grew tattered
as a shirt in your closet
from moths
hanging on the wire in the dark
holey and sags
making red rags to dust off your seat

I gave you
my wings
battered and broken
hoping to fly again
but you cut my feathers
and scattered them
as ashes in the smoky air
blowing in the hot wind
pelting sleet in the heat

Your hypocrisy- wings
Your bureaucracy- wings
Your insults- wings
Your consults- wings
Your expectations-wings
Your impatience-wings
Your resignations-wings
Your demands-wings
Your commands-wings
Your arrogance-wings
Your disinheritance-wings
Your apathy-wings
Your cruelty-wings
Your duality-wings

Bye, bye! Fly high, high away

said no one
who had success
If I'm not at the top
I haven't reached it
yet

cut-up, bloodied hearts
you can string them
or fling them
for fun

you can be old
or you can be young

cubed and arranged in angles
go on, make them dangle

neatness is for geeks
Ok! Ok!
I admit -
I’m a freak

that cuts in sliver’s inside
this woman’s brain that even I
cannot explain –
What happens when you’re

too young to know the right way
from the wrong to show affection. It becomes
an affliction that comes out in different
ways. It comes out in psychotic

outburst. It comes out
in rage. It comes out labeled borderline. It
comes out concaved, curving inward
from the toll of its shame. When is touch

harmful? When is touch Ok? What is
the difference when the tongue or ****
is in your face? When the hand that feeds you
cuts you/leaving gullies in your *** of

crimson scorn and frustrated storms
from the past. You spend a quarter of your
life sitting in different offices with funny looking
men that only add to your burden.

of my hair.
Like lice he
got tangled up
in there. Got him out

of my closet.
He'd left
his skeleton as
a deposit. Got him out

of my tree house.
He'd crawl in
my holes like a mouse.
Got him out

of my so-called life.
Gave him back
to his so-called wife. So, he's out

of my canopy bed.
But he isn't out of
this floating head!

the day
the same way
coaxing myself
to climb out of
this mountain of bed
with all the covers
spread out like a thick blanket of snow
weighing down the branches
as this head dances
like a bobblehead doll
sealed in a box
you can purchase at the mall

I go through
the door
and out into the world
like a furled umbrella
that when dry is stellar

I go through
the motions
like a shackled prisoner
wearing heavy chains around the ankles
handing out samples of weathered burn lines
behind a thin screen
of rust colored dust in the basement
where the windows have no curtains
so, all can look in
at the experiment

than the grocery store. And I’m
always producing more. Every day
I create and share with the world out there
from inside, underground in my nakedness

is where I fit. In my dank basement that
smells of used kitty-litter that hasn’t been
changed. And the black cat with the green eyes
that struts his *** in front of my computer

screen while I’m typing, or at least trying
to, while my son’s asleep upstairs in his
room. And the hubster’s gone to work. And the
sky is darker than a black man’s ****. And I’m

composing out loud again. But they’re selling
after seven years, plenty of sweat and tears, *****
martinis. My son tells me I smell like an olive. As
long as my writing is solid –

as others grew up. I was attached
as a continent until I broke off
and became an island. Every man
I gave my hand held a chisel. Carved

a piece out of my middle. Now my head’s
hung to my chest. And my feet are at
my knees. I don’t bend to sit. I’m bent
so, I fit with the bottom crawlers. I’m little

as a bonsai, ornamental and
dwarfed. I morphed into a living
corpse. Drinking my days in a purple
haze. Once you’ve lopped you can’t

reattach. A broken branch can’t
hitch back on the tree. It rots on the
ground, covered by leaves. Not missed –
just a stick

like a long strand of
hair in the ****, ***** and
hidden. I was a **** in-between
the lines where the sidewalk

ends and the poison ivy
climbs. I spread out like the
plains and withstood the wind,
the sun and the rains. I grew

tall as the trees. I flowered
in a row, even as the winter covered
me in a blanket of snow. I grew
as the grey clouds rolled in

like the old man upstairs
was bowling. Others had gardens
to bloom, with white picket fences
erudite rooms.

to **** out my garden.
Now there’s no room
for the roses to grow.
So, all that they do
is hang their heads low.

I hadn’t the time
to clean out my closet.
Now the skeletons
are dancing a jig
wearing my corsets.
I can’t jar the door
even if I force it.

I hadn’t the time
to dust the grey cobwebs.
Now they’re dangling
as pearls over my bed.
And bead up as teardrops
in stillness, I shed.

before it took anymore out
of me. I had to be the pins in his
coffin. I had to shoot him in the back
while he was walking. I had to do it
because if I did not, I’d lick his *****
until they fell off. He’d hide in holes
just like a mouse. We’d ****** scream
and ****** **** and go to bars.
Get ****** drunk. Fight until the fight
in us was gone. I put him to sleep once
and for all.

a rose.
You plucked the petals.
So, the world can see
a stem
with only thorns and leaves.

I handed you
a strand of pearls.
You wrapped around
your finger like a curl.
And pulled tight
till it snapped.
All that’s left
are empty gaps.

I handed you
a song.
You played it
till the needle
scratched,
and jumped
over the track.
Played it
till it was murky.
All the notes jerky.

I handed you
a sunny day.
You stood in the way
and became my shade.
So, now I’m a silhouette
that hasn’t set.

down to the ground. Many get
lost in the shade of my arms. Grace
has always been one of my charms. I
thrive near water. They think I am

sad. My name means “shed tears.” My bark
is rough. But when I bloom catkins
appear as an anticipating groom. And when
the wind blows I sweep the lawn and

dance till dawn. I’m a secret spot for
lovers, a hideaway for others. My long
emerald hair dips in the water, turns yellow
in autumn like a big golden blossom.

they’ll be the death of me yet
I hang them as they are –
Unedited
I lost many through them
because I was rough
with the verse
because I said so
and worse, said salacious things
pressing people’s buttons

I make no apologies
for each stanza
speaks solemnly the truth
and I’d rather be alone
with my ***** and cherry
than to ever be sugar-coating
any of them
I’ll leave that to the rim
of my glass

I’ll never kiss
any publisher’s *** either
join me for a drink –
we’ll talk politics
I’ll show you a few
tricks
of overcoming the block –
with sass and gauche
I can talk a roach into hiding
solely by my chiding!

conversation, straining yourself
like constipation to say a word,
just to put something out there
or because the silence is awkward.

I hate forced
smiles, for the sake of feigning
interest when inside you’re really
riled.

I hate forced
laughter, above all. When someone
says some stupid joke you’re supposed
to laugh, so their ego doesn’t
fall, when their joke is really flat.

I hate forced
holidays when you come together –
a bunch of strangers that could care
less about you the rest of the year to fake
conversation, a smile and laugh –
yeah, it ***** – I hate that!

when all he says is uh -huh
like he can’t bother with words
to come up with something to
say. I feel like it’s a one-sided

conversation. He’s probably doing
something else. That’s where his
attention lies. But I can’t see him
myself because he won’t let me drop

by. And this lock-down in place
means no one goes outside. I can’t
communicate with my son this way. He
can’t do virtual because he won’t look

on the screen. It’s as lonely as lonely
could possibly be. And the phone is not
my friend. There’s no warmth on
the other end, just a vague utterance.

and I’d like you to use it.
Don’t call me darling.
I’m not your honey.
Don’t call me dude!
That’s not even funny.
I deserve some respect.
Unless we’re dating
don’t call me sweetheart.
Don’t call me dear.
I’m not an animal in the forest.
Don’t call me rose.
I’m not a florist.
Don’t call me cupcake.
I’m not a dessert.
This might hurt.
The point I’m trying to make -
I have a name.
And I’d like you to use it.

To make it, to do this.
I am lucid in this vision.
Reverie is as slothful as my feline
curled up on top of the chocolate couch,
content to look out the window
at a blue jay sitting on the wire.
What does this inspire?
More slothful reverie!
Not for me.
What separates dream from cat?
A pane of glass.

that split off
from
themselves
and
go in opposite directions
I’m up against myself
So, I face my own objections
Who will win?
Who will lose?
It’s me either way
My son asks “who are you talking to mom”
“No one” I say

pictures of us
the poetry books
all his clothes
the ties off the hooks

I have burned
the soles of my feet
pacing the floors
the sauce on the stove
letters in drawers

I have burned
a hole in the carpet
from an unlit cigarette
like the one in my nightie
waking up in cold sweat

I have burned
the palm of my hand
spilling the tea
but I cannot burn
this haunting memory

for you now
the big boys
don’t want a note
just the flesh
under a woman’s petticoat

I have little room
to sit and pen
the paying men
don’t want a word
only ******* screams
heard

I have little room
to think
just paint up my face
bend over
and wink

and exits. I try to let the insipid out
and the sapid things in. But sometimes
I reverse the order and only take in
the insipid things. As a writer

my hands are my mouth. And what
I take in I also put out. So, I’m trying to put
into this well-oiled machine something
clear, crisp and clean.

that swing into your life and swing
back out again. Too hung up to call! Living in their
shanty walls. Fragmented pieces are tiles
on their floor. Sticks are their roof, that don't

waterproof the spoor. Their "welcome mat"
written in children's play chalk! Snow covers
the letters erased from a spring rain. I'm replaced
as a glass of champagne.

to fall. My face is
on the ground covered in
dirt. Worms as my floss. It hurts
to stand up. I’m at a loss.

I have nowhere
to go. Not a thing to
do. Every day is the same. The only
thing that I change are my clothes
and my shoes.

I have nowhere
to turn. Everyone's left
me. I'm ashes in an urn,
sitting on the shelf all to myself.

I have nowhere
to reach. My arms are
cut off. Flat on my belly;
I'm a sucker like a leech.

I have nowhere
to run or no man
to run from. Nowhere is
a place that I've outrun.

since she flew down
south. I haven't heard anything
from her that was word
of mouth. I look at her pictures,

still frames of her youth. I dabble
in the reverie afternoons drinking
vermouth. She'd flitter and flutter
flower to flower, flapping wings

in an early evening shower. When
the grass wore its coat of gleaming
white was the day she took her first
flight. I thought she'd be back

to hear the bluebird sing and
see the cherry trees blooming
in the spring. But as the days melted
into years, it didn't wash away a single

drop of my tears. So, memories I'll
frame. Hanging them on my walls,
they all look the same. I cannot hear
her chirping over my morning cup of

coffee, or see her nest flossy
in the trees. Like the autumn leaves
she blew away. And after she left
the cornflower skies turned a silver grey.