that’s stabbed
with a nail. Layers of paint
have chipped off
through the stabbing. The woman

is grabbing a picture
to hang over it. All eyes
look at the picture and miss
the hole in the wall, stabbed

by the nail. The hole is securing
the nail that the picture
hangs on. But no scenery
like an azure sky or a blue bird

flying low. No pretty girl
dressed in lace and a bow. Just a
dent in the wall meant to hide
behind the scene. No evergreen

or fir. I lie in the dark
and wait for the woman to take
down the picture and paint
over the hole a bright band of gold.

for the way
I am.
No apologies
either.
Take it
or leave it.
What you see
is my vision.
You’re going to
be baffled
rattled
and disjointed.
I’m jumbled up
wires of complexity
that you’ll never
untangle with certainty.
I hope my dexterity
shocks you
out of your reality
or into it –
if you’re just lying
on the surface.

dripping drops of
colored lollipops, in banana,
cherry, apple and grape. Crinkled
as a crepe, swirling on

the bottom as the leaves
in autumn. None cannot turn their head
to the plop, plop, plop. Dancing, glimmering
beads bop sticking to the surface. I’m a

circus show in monotone. This is
my home. I’m thrown together as  
the clouds. But underneath soft
as down. High on the mountain

of my pain, I’ll gush out as
a waterfall in the rain. Men, woman
and children can swim in my tears,
bathe in my sweat and bask in my fears.

of people. Their noses high as a spire
on the church steeple. I’m the elephant
in the room or hidden dust that didn’t
catch the broom. I wander around

like a clown wearing a red painted
smile upside-down. I hate this isolation,
feeling like the train has left the station. As I
stand on the platform out of breath. To chase

it'd be my death. I miss the forest,
where the branches dance and the birds
sing in chorus. Where the rivers run. And the only
thing set is the sun waltzing on the horizon. It’s no

surprise then, I don’t fit in. I stick out
like a candlepin. Standing to be knocked
down. Counting the seconds till my hundred
breakdown.

of song. All my lights burnt out. I’ve no
spirit and less soul. My words don’t
rhyme. They fall off

the line and roll into the holes
of my walls. The mice chew them and
spit them out. Even to ravenous mice
my lines can’t suffice. I made them hot as

coal, that hang in my stocking. I’m
sick of talking to these plastered walls. They’re as
plastered as I. I don’t go after my lines. They just
come to me in my reverie. I’m a disaster that

can’t stop.

I don’t need waterfalls.
I’ve enough tears to fill an entire ocean.
I don’t need any man.
I’ve passion to put my heart in motion.

My philosophy is fundamental.
All I need to feel alive, is the belief
to myself I must be gentle.
I’m all the woman I need.

I don’t need your blessing.
I’ve got it takes to make it on my own
without second-guessing.
As long as love’s in my heart I’m not alone.

My philosophy is fundamental.
All I need to feel alive, is the belief
to myself I must be gentle.
I’m all the woman I need.

drifting in the water.
There’s still a little life left in the hollow,
where the water passes through,
where the light shifts and droops.

I once was attached to the tree.
I once was close to the sky.
I once had bright colored leaves.
A few made their home my limb.

But now I’m imprisoned.
I’m not attached to anything.
I can’t even see sky.
I’ve turned dull as a stone.
No one makes their home on me.

I’m starting to rot from lack of use.
My bark’s fallen off like a loose tooth.
I’ll never be attached again,
cut up as the dinner hen.

that’s unraveled. You’ve treated me
as gravel, walking all over me. Threadbare
from years of wear. I’m unhitching from
you pulling my stitching. Piling up

on the floor in a heap. I was so cheap. I'm a
masterpiece of falling leaves. The golds are sharp
as swords. The reds have bled their silvery heads
into a matador. And the amber can see the bull

from the tips of the trees. All my colors swirl
into a ghost of a little girl. I'll sew her back again
without the help of a dicky friend. And she'll float
in a paper boat over the horizon -

surprising all of you that said she was unglued!

I don’t have brass
I’ve got *****
I don’t have class
I’ve got gall

What I’ve got
some call junk
But I’m not
short on *****

Maybe short on wit,
temper
patience
and height

But you know what?
I’m alright

It tells me
do this
I don’t listen
It tells me
don’t do that
I don’t listen
I think
therefor
I’m not

from the sun. Don’t expect me
to be warm. It's cold here on earth. All
the men wear masks. They don't
ask "how do you do". I can't see
their smiles. Their bodies skew.

I’m a million miles away
in my thoughts. Don’t expect
to find me. I’m lost in a reverie of
azure skies and crystal foam seas
of aqua green. I don't like
all I've seen.

I'm a million miles away
from this place. I can't face
another day living in the shadows,
hanging as a silhouette on
the wall. The red, white, and blue
has mixed to purple. Somebody broke
the circle that joined us all.

of letters in his bowl. From A to
O. From P to Z he swallowed me
whole. Wiped the last drop of broth
on his red cotton cloth. Loose in

his gastric juice I put together
the header with my scrambled letters. In
the upper left corner, I warn her of
his tongue and his flapping gums. I spell

it out in the body that he is hot
as a toddy and twice as strong. She'll
catch in his tonsils and cough
out on his console, as I did. And swim

fast as a squid in his sea of books. But I
bind mine with leather and turpentine. And
I sell them on the web where they flow
and ebb.

in a little ranch house. A dark and
dusty spot under the rooftop. I’m static. No
movement around me. No talking mouths
or walking feet. Clumsily shaped

and out of place of the living space. Here
I expose my rafters, in the silence of no
man’s laughter. Boxes stacked and sealed. Past
years all concealed. If my walls did speak, they'd

drip stain teardrops of red and bleed
as a reed in the wind through the ceiling of
women and men.

full of life and flame
none can blow out this light
I'll not fit into some man’s wooden frame
I’ve turned my arms into wings
now see how high I’ll fly
my hips have carried a child

my legs have walked for miles
my hands have baked and sewed
eyes have wept and glowed
this ***** that fed my babies
now flops and hangs so lazy
the stretch marks across my stomach
are from birthing two boys
whose heads had plummet

the line on my face showing my age
are filled with love now and sage
my head hasn’t swelled, only my ankles
for standing for years in this shell
I buried my father and mother
as God took my son’s only brother
and smiled through all the pain
dancing and singing in the evening rain

so, don’t drop me
on the floor. I’ll crack
and you’ll see what’s
inside of me isn’t set,

and quite a mess
when it leaks out –
I know I could have been
formed if someone kind

took to me, gave me warmth
and a little heat. I might
have been something worth
putting into something else –

or better yet, standing off
all by myself.

detached

              and floating
More to me
than the tip. I can
rip you apart.
You say
I’m small. But
under
it all,
I’m a mountain.

thrown
from side
to side
paddled
and kicked
driven
high in the air
only to land
with my head
in the sand
gone through
hoops
loop the loop
called a foul
batted
pumped up
under pressure
deflated
put in a hole
behind
the eight ball

iridescent pieces shifting
in a stained-glass house.
Loosely, rotating, falling into
a pattern, changing, drifting.

In this fun house of mirrors
in a prism tube I refract.
Pushing up against myself
squeezed in tightly,

watch me now contract!
Look into me deeply,
a perilous journey scope.
Toy with me briefly,

you’re at the edge,
and heading down the *****.
You eye it through one end,
a mirrored fractured shape.

An enigma at each turn,
twisting in a hollow matrix but
painting an exquisite landscape!

reddish-brown, dancing
around my dead nest that's
bombed, poisoned and fallen
to the ground. Still buzzing

where it hung. Stinging
men that stand near it. Strands
of it dangling down like colored
party streamers, swinging in

the air. My tummy balloons like
I ate a hearty meal. But I'm starving
as I spiel these lines. Smelling
of its death prickles me like

long needle pines. Rebuilding
on the splinters, on the shards of
what's been left. Not a pearl to
string. The brokenness has heft.

all black and white. I’ve no
color. I’ve never taken flight. My wings
are stubs that flap but never lift off. I only

waddle when I walk. The air around me
is cold. Glaciers and icebergs are my
home. I dive deep to get my feed. I wish life

could be easier on me. I wish I was slender. I wish
I could fly. I wish I was colorful as the macaw,
and that people would listen when I

make noise, and believe I have a voice. I wish
I could live in the rain forest, among the lush trees
and sparkling waterfalls. The saddest thing

about my life is I was born wearing
a tuxedo with nowhere to go except
back and forth.

a little black dot that marks
the end. That's my lot. A speck
no bigger than the head of
a pin. There is no way for me

to win. I build a nest on strings
of words that stood before. My life  
is nothing but a bore. I am not
read. And I sit low. People pass

me as they go. And if there's
a question do I get hooked?
Like a wire hanger in a closet
full of clothes or the curl of

a cat's tail above my nose. And if
they make a point they throw me
a line in the shape of a joint! Some
men throw another dot above

my rounded head: So, there’s two
of us, not one instead. My twin is not
fine company. She's just a copy of me. Men
pause; I jump on top bearing my claws.

a fluff-ball with *******
a dust bunny that’s runny
none take me seriously
just a speck, a freckle on the sun
a flake on a wire
shaken off
a fleck, a spot, a patch
a seed that didn’t soil
floating pollen in the air
a grain of sand
wet and bare
a chip that breaks off
falls
and is lost
is stepped on by a man
smeared under his sole
a blight, a blemish
mole
a cavity
a pinprick
hole

ball paddled back and
forth by the both of
them. Small, so I
fit in the palm of their

hand with their fingers
enclosing around me, light
and round, hitting the
table. Dizzy by the

sensation of not having
a true destination. Falling to
the ground. Jumping hurdles,
and flying through the air

like a jet over the net. Ricocheting
as a bullet out of a gun. I'm home
spun. A pearl without a strand. Now
where will I land?

they twist
into a knot
and squeeze out
every
last drop
then complain
after
they’ve drained
everything

they’d take
my blood
if I gave them
a syringe
cut a hole
they would –
impinge
and lay me
out
have a laugh
after
they hacked
me
in /half

an optical illusion,
iridescent pieces shifting
in a stained-glass house.
Loosely, rotating, falling into

a pattern, changing, drifting.
In this fun house of mirrors
in a prism tube I refract.
Pushing up against myself

squeezed in tightly,
watch me now contract!
Look into me deeply,
a perilous journey scope.

Toy with me briefly,
you’re at the edge,
and heading down the *****.
You eye it through one end,

a mirrored fractured shape.
An enigma at each turn,
twisting in a hollow matrix but
painting an exquisite landscape!

cause I do
my own thing. I don’t
listen to other
people. They’re not
happy. Sure, they pretend
that they are. But if
they were, they wouldn’t
try to convince
everyone. They protest
too loudly and convince
fatuously, so daftly
I must ask myself,
really?? Now being a rebel
hasn’t made me happy. It’s
made me lonely. But unlike
others I own my loneliness
and whatever else I get. And
because of this I feel a bit
superior, maybe even genius!

under October snow
lone and cold/dark and old
I rose

pushing my petals out
beneath the frost. Asking if
the sun is lost. The sky is grey
as nanna’s hair. Fatter than her

*****/sitting square. A child’s
breath hangs circling the air in billowing
clouds of apples and pears. I dance

and bring the morning rain. The sun
paints a crimson stain in the late
afternoon. I’ll rise again in early June.

I’m as a Leaf

I begin
as a tiny, closed bud. The nights
roll in as thunder. I sit under my canopy
of green. I haven’t seen the first snow

fall or felt the heat from a blistering
sun. I just broke out; I haven't
begun. I’ll morph my color from green
to yellow as I mellow through the circular

days. The robin builds her nest. The squirrel
throws out his chest to scare off the crows. The
wind blows the rain onto me. I lose my
vibrancy as the days shorten. I fall

from the old oak tree. I ride the wind and
travel. My lights are the morning sun and the evening
star. Some step on me. Some like
my color. If I can I’ll find

a pond, lake or river and float as a raft
without a quiver. Make friends with a lily
pad. Happy I'm given the chance
to dance in the wind and fly as the bird,
leaving the tree,  that birthed me.

short and thin, bending
to the wind. My head is
close to the ground. Green
as the grass I live in a tight

circle mound. Bigger than
a seedling, but not wholly
sprung. I'm just a pearl
that has yet to be

strung. No flowers
or fruit hang from my
branches. But I can grow
as big as an old farmer's

ranch is. If the cornflower
sky sprinkled me with a misty
kiss and the buttered *** sun
danced on my leaves I'd promise

you this. I'd rise to heights
tall as the mountains,
having an eagle build an
aerie on my branches. Spying

an eaglet scratch her way to the
the outside world from inside an egg
is joy. I cannot be cloyed by nature's
excess. To me, it only loosens the stress.

when it comes to you
I fall softly as I turn crimson
from the heat of a touch
as an apple fallen off the tree
when its overripen by the sun
as I turn orange as a pumpkin
pie wafting through the kitchen
or sitting outside on the wooden steps
yellow as the hay that’s been swept up
in the barn after a long day
of milking the cows
the cascading leaves swirling
int the crisp, cool air makes me want to
pull you closer and fall into a bed of them
piled as high as a mountain

to my trade. Wrote is name
all over my body in black
marker. I need a glass of *****. Lost
my self-respect for a paycheck. But

they don’t like my writing. Mere word’s
are Not exciting. They want to see
me **** my toes, **** in a stream of
gold, play with my *****, shove things

up my ***. The question I must
ask is Do I have to die –
to stay alive???

falling from the sky. I dissolve
as I touch the bottom. I wanted to be
a sunbeam so, I can shine. Dancing between
the clouds, cutting up the sky and dripping
strawberry wine.

I’m an ice-crystal
with points prickly as a thistle. I wanted
to be sparling as a diamond. But I turned out
thin as a *****.

I'm powder dust
blowing as a sneeze, showering the earth
in a blizzard of broken branches. I wanted to be
lightening in flashes so, I can crack up the sky. Split
the moon with my hide.

in his laundry basket of clothes
without a mate
with holes in the toes

and the stench of the others
creeps up on me
if I had my druthers

I’d push through the pile
of refugees
rancor and bile

and set myself free

in the making
lyrics and melody
for the taking

I’m a song
in the shower
under beads of water
I’ve the power

I’m a song
in the city
there’s more to me
than being pretty

I’m a song
on your YouTube
I’m so much more
than what you’re used to

I’m a song
that lifts you up
I’ve the spirit
you just can’t *****

Watch and Behold
the world will rust
but I’ll be GOLD

a flying magnolia aircraft that didn't
think I'd crash into his window,
hitting it with a thud. Face squashed
against the pane. I'm stunned. The life

in me drained. Quashed by a
reflection. Cast by the abjection.
Breaking my neck, gasping for my last
breath. Bleeding inside myself. Wings

folded like an accordion as I headed for
the white and green Victorian. I saw crimson,
orange leaves, watercolors on the trees. Scene
wafting like apple pie, a tie-dye of smells

and colors. Cherry wine in giant
mullers. Thought I'd pass as the wind
through my feathers. I weathered hits
before. But not with a centaur!

waiting for men
to fall prey
on my web
every day.

I’m a cow
with my teats sticking out
looking for
a hungry mouth.

I’m a Venus Fly Trap
my tiny hairs
are swords
that cut men down
as boards

sticking out
biting as winter
bright as diamonds
sharp as swords.

Filing my tongue
on my emery board.
A broken piece of glass
reflective, diaphanous

prickly as a cactus,
thrown in with a clump of daffiness.

I bounce back
when you push on me
I go higher
as you press
like a jay on a wire
that’s flown
from home

You can’t cut steel
I’m wrapped around myself
over and again
as a snake coiled in the grass
You can’t see
curled around big feet
as I pass underneath
Till I strike –
jump to life

My tears are dry
as a bone. I cried
many teardrops
that froze to my

face. They turned
to icicles and cut
as razor blades. I bled
out all the red myself

in bed. I turned
hard from the cold, as
the grass in my yard
under a blanket of

snow. I’ve dug
an impression none can
see. The sun doesn’t shine
on me. When you’re a rock

they look at you
as a mismatched sock. None
can tell I fought to grow
between the blades and bitter snow.

climbing up a pole,
trying so hard to attach,
for my tentacles to latch on,
like a babe. So, I can grow up

and be strong. But spiraling
around a splintered post cut
my green curls, like swirls of
hair falling from the barber's

chair. If I was a sunflower I'd have
the power to ride the sky. My golden
petals waving hi. But I'm a tendril, a thin
piece of thread without a back or

head. A crisp snap of dry leaves,
a wisp of smoke billowing in the breeze. If I
was a rose I'd be wrapped in evergreen
boughs, bloom as the sun and the robin rouse.

My smile is my dressing
coating the surface a creamy
red, spreading over a lettuce
bed. But it all pours from

a bottle. I’m a chopped onion,
protruding as the bunion on my
foot/hacked as a computer by
an adroit crook. The saddest

women smile as if their eyes
were cherries. But inside the rounded
glossy fruit lies a stone. And once all
the flesh is consumed the stone is spitted out
like stream from a whale’s spout.

a kindling wood,
not big am I. If I stood up
straight I could pass for
a blade of grass. Splintered

and thin. Lost in a forest
of oaks and pines. Men walk
over me. Covered in brown
fallen leaves from the autumn

deciduous trees. I’m hidden under
the brush. My buds could flower
to plush valentines if I drank rain
water and ate sunshine. But I snapped

in two from the hooves of heavy
men wearing leather shoes. I bent
to break. No bigger than a match
now. But I can catch fire. I’m a pyre

of the black ink night. I light
the sky into a smoky orange ocean
from the motion of rubbing my broken
pieces together.

that doesn’t roll. I spin
in circles. I lost my axle. I’m
just a rubber tire put out
to expire. I could be used as

a floating device, on a hot day
by the lake. Ah, that sounds nice. Or
maybe tied to a tree with a child
sitting on me. I like to swing. That

wouldn’t be such a bad thing. Many
miles I have gone. I’ve grown
a little thread worn. And if I’m not meant
to drive I still have it in me with the help

of someone’s company to be
useful and fun –
even if for only one.

walking around in an adult's body pained
from men and women that were put on
this earth to protect me, at the least respect
me. Black and blues fade. Scabs grow over

cuts with new skin. But the scars hid inside are
as stars in the night sky. None can see the monstrosity
of their size with only naked eyes. The growth that is
measured at school in feet and test scores ignores

the pygmies of a rose in a ****** glove. None count
the teardrops or sleepless nights, holding onto goose
feathers stuffed in a pillow. Head hung down as a weeping
willow. They'll fit you for a bra. But not fit you in their

hearts. They'll make plans for you. But you can't
plan on them. They look at you as a music box that shuts off
off when they close the lid. Then the little ballerina stops
dancing on her pole.

People let me down
more than the rain.
Where is the kindness?
The smiles?
Why do we live in silent pain?
No words of comfort or praise.
Why do they try to convert me
to their way of thinking?
Why do they desert me
without even blinking?
Why do they only think of themselves
as if no on else has an opinion?
I’m no minion.
I’m a full-fledge woman
of independence -
not afraid to show it
my thoughts and convictions
my loves and addictions
my body and beauty.
I’m not being snooty.
I’m being happy in my own skin.
Happy to share it with you.
Happy to tell the world -
I’m beautiful

as a slate sky
caught in a v-formation
of geese flying by
storm clouds surrounding me
as I float in a breeze
of unanswered whys

I’m blue
as the midnight sea
ain't no light
at the bottom
just a dessert of organisms
and darkness fills
this square prism

I’m blue
as blueberry pie
cut into pieces
served to men
I hate
till all that’s left
are crumbs on a plate

I’m blue
as robin eggs
cracked and broken
all the life inside me flown
an empty shell
sits as a stone

into roles -
the mother
poet
the seductress
an actress
the office worker
wife
friend and daughter
Some fit me
into a part
they made up –
a part they said I was
but I was not

I'm broken
into portions -
my innocence
that my parents took
my teen-age years
bullied
the working years
blending into the backdrop
the homemaking years
with a broom and dust cloth
the extramarital affairs
that made me sully
the artful
that I now dwell in

I'm broken
into pieces -
the *****
for my husband
the womb
for my children
my hands
for my boss
my heart
that I tossed
like a volleyball
back and forth
south and north

calories
in my bed
tossing and turning
from things deconstructing
in this head

I’m burning
rubber
on the streets
racing from
all my defeats

I’m burning
bridges
shore to shore
to even the score

I’m burning
down the house
I built
Flooded from the flames
I didn’t learn to walk on stilts
Now I’m locked in chains

I'm burning
alive
all  the maggots
eating up my insides
with rage

I’m burning
incense
cinnamon and sage
my friends
in old age

lying on the side of
the dirt road, carrying pen
and ode.  Cars go breakneck
past, accelerating the gas. Vultures

circling in grey sky. Swarming flies
hovering nearby.  Racoons picking off
the bones. Maggots swimming in the ear
canals. As in life, still with me

now. Skin ripped off like wrapping
paper. All that's left is clouds of vapor. And
the smell of decaying flesh whirls in
cyclones of veins in mesh. As cars go breakneck past,
accelerating the gas.

burning in the rubble. It’s
hindering. All I do
is struggle. I’m smoldering

underneath the red rocks. It’s
sobering hitting my head against
the blocks. Once on fire,

higher than a kite, brighter
than a lighter. But grey as ashes
now, taken all the lashes

from hands of men taken
vows. They choked me
as they smoked me. Then

they did the same again. I ended
up as billowing dust in the wind.