as the morning dew
clinging its clear droplet
onto a blade of grass.
As it runs down the blade
so, it fades into the earth.

I’m close to you
as my mask
covering nose and lips
sniffles and smiles
teeth as pearls
hidden in swirls of sand

I’m close to you
as pixels
cramming together
for the picture
of the man
that stares into the screen
I’ve only seen above
the keys
or through the door

I cannot hold him
with arms
I hold him with stares
I cannot touch him
with hands
I touch him with care

about the other
side. I don’t even understand
this side. I’m not sure some days
which side I’m on. Besides my side
I’m not sure I want to enter something
I’m not sure of, unless someone gives me
all the answers, and they all come
with written guarantees. The older I get
the more this bothers me.

I'm Covered All in Black

But if you scratch the surface
you'll see all the colors underneath.
As the wax flies off in the hands,
of a lepidopterist I'm a butterfly. And

in the hands of botanist
I'm an orchid. If you were a mother,
I can be your kid if you drew  
a circle for my eyes and head, loops for

ears and nose, a wiggle for a mouth
and a body with some clothes in red
and green and gold. But if you leave me
black then black is all you'll see. If you sit

back and don't look under
me. The colors are all hidden, cloaked in
a black prison. The shapes are yet
to take without a pen or stake.

by circumstances out of
my control. I’ve waited too long
in line. Waited for the right

time. There is no right time. Because
now is all you’ve got. I don’t intend
to give it up. I’m cutting lines and

cutting cords. I’m stealing base. And
carrying sword. Nothing is going to
stop me again. I don’t care if it hails

cannon *****. Whenever destiny rings
I won’t answer its call. Destiny may be
a slight inconvenience/but no longer a

grievance. Even crushed tomatoes can
make a sauce. All is not lost.

on different days. I wear
different hats. Stand in
different shoes. On some days it’s
hard to choose the hat

to wear. What character is like
the real person. I’m certain
each  has a role. At times, many
in toll. I dress them down. I dress them

up. Black, white or red. Some big
hearts, some big heads. Some from my
youth. They all shed light. Some run out on

me in their Nikes. Some sleep in my
bed while I'm awake talking about their
mistakes. Some lustful. Some shy. They’re
all flowerful, coy and spry.

taking the initiative
always calling and emailing you
trying to make plans
*****!
I’m taking back my self-respect
it’s lagged for so long
I thought that it was gone
trying to figure this out
trying to get answers
trying
and
trying
with NO Results!
waiting
and
waiting
hurting so bad
checking
expecting
this and that
wanting so much
for you
to make a move
but you never do
so, I’m done –
chasing you

in his hands,
wet and pliable. He rolls me
out on his table, softly
caressing me. And I stick to

his fingers as a wet glove
covered in snow. I don’t want
to let go. I’m melting to his touch. All
my bits of hardness are broken

off and blended as a watercolor
in the rain. I rise as I dry
as the sun over the ocean in crimson
with streaks of gold. All this he rolled

with sweetness and years, with smiles
and with tears. I smell the waft
slip under his door as cinnamon and
clover, swirled into a sky of blue.

as the goose feathers
in my pillow,
hanging as a weeping willow.

I’m down
as last night’s pelting rain.
Spinning in circles
as a weathervane.

I’m down
as George Floyd.
Pinned by this world
But able to strike.
This hand is a snake
It can bite.

in a half-inch puddle of water,
simmering at the freezing point.
And if my life grows hotter
I'll crack just like my joints! I walk

in the same spot.
The scenery doesn’t change.
I walk a lot. But the horizon's
out of range. I, the ice

princess living in painted castles
of clouds. A wife and a mistress,
a poet that thinks out loud. I lost
my breath lying under him, not at

the gym. I toppled
from the bottom. Such a long
fall. It happens when you
build a house with no walls.

as dripping beads
of egg-white
lying on the kitchen
quartz. My life's cut like

my jean shorts, ragged
and straggly.  I've wept
rivers. Like standing in
the cold rain I drain. So, now

I'm tapped. Someone ******
all the sap out of me, with their hands
like milking a tree. I'm dry as my father's
jokes. They didn't draw many laughs

from the blokes. I'm dry as
the Atacama. But drier still is
my drama. Dry as the chardonnay,
and the spill from yesterday.

as the *** of spaghetti
I left on the stove. Empty as
the pockets in my overcoat. Empty
as a wheelbarrow full of rain. It’s

a swimming hole for
the crows. It hasn’t seen much
grain. Empty as the Styrofoam cup
after the man used up his last

coins on the gin. Empty as
the bottle as he drains it, growing
thin. Empty as all the promises
I’ve ever made. Empty as a carton of
lemonade on a hot day.

I’m the infant that steadily
sleeps. And only flutters her eyes
when she's all set to eat. I’m also the baby
that creeps around the house. And

the toddler that bounces with
energy like Mickey mouse on
a trampoline. I’m the young girl with big
dreams, dancing on stardust and

moonbeams. But I’m also
the indolent teenager that flirts
with the boys and is punished for
my vitriolic behavior. I'm the woman

standing on the train in stilettos
riding to the office. Making plans for
vacation. Pushing papers all week till
the weekend when I can

hit the beach. I'm the same woman
that now carries an infant
in her womb. And buys a house
with larger rooms and a backyard with
a swing and slide. Two fury kittens

inside. And I see fluttering eyes
looking at me, creeping around the house
with energy like Mickey mouse, that flirt with
girls and takes trains. And so too, have dreams,
just not the same.

as a Willow Tree
figurine. No one can see
an expression on me. No eyes
to stain my face with tears. No

nose to smell of danger close,
nor mouth to frown upon
the day. I scream in silence because
mine doesn’t exist. No one painted it

on, nor the lips. And I have not
a set of ears. So, I cannot hear
abrasive words, nor can I hear the sweet
song of the birds.

over the mountains
into the sea. Some men
are broken in quarters
and halves. I’m smashed

like a bat swung
to glass. Shattered to
smithereens. My pieces
are pasted in ***** men's

dreams. The little fragments
reflect light if I hold them
at an angle just right. Some
take off like fireflies, shining

in the night sky. All this dross
like dust in the air made it
by seeds I planted with flare. Every
piece broken off grew from the loss

into a garden bed. Flowered
from the toss and rooted with
spares.

like a pin-up poster of a calendar
girl, wearing pigtails with ****
out of this world.

like a gangster robbing a bank,
until the whole place is smoking
and bodies lie rank.

like a hot-air balloon that floats
above everyone’s head in candy-
apple red. And moon the spectators –
with my *** cheeks spread!

on the mountain
high above the plain
on the rooftops
sunshine or in rain

I’m going to do me
in a forest
full of trees and birds
in the lines, I put out
see people eat their words

I’m going to do me
with or without you
not in mediocrity
but in neon blue

I'm going to do me
as I'm old and grey
till all the bombs are dropped
this life doesn't stand
another living day

as an egg on toast
in hot water
and then boast
to anyone that listens
till the skin on you is red
and glistens

I’m going to drop you
as a water balloon
out a hundred story building
at noon
so, the ground men will
see you splatter
as cake batter

I’m going to drop you
deep into the Atlantic Ocean
in cement shoes
in slow motion
pictures of you tacked
to the back of streetlights
heading "missing man"
then ride off in my van

like it was the last day of your life
like morning had no light
like we were locked up in the hollow of a tree
with nest of swarming bees
like aliens came down to earth
populating it with their birth
like the president was Ike
and there were no civil rights
the country was at war
I’m the bull; to your matador
the crowd would roar
when the plaza was filled with gore
Nice & Easy is a hair coloring
not for *******

into pieces with jagged sides
like bolts of lightning till every piece
flies through every closed window,
every raised flue. Going to shoot the moon

till it breaks like a plate. Drop all the bone
china into the night like snowflakes till
it cuts their hands, their faces, their eyes. Till
they swallow the shards like a huge pizza-

pie. I'm going to bounce the sun like
a basketball. Let the bombs fall over trees,
homes and stalls. And every cloud covers
this earth like a red linen shroud. I've spoken

with thunder. Took every man's face
and pasted their blunders. Drove every
stone into hail till it’s rubbed into their
fingertips and they read it like braille.

knife
and cut you
out of my life.

I’m gonna get the biggest    
gun
you can’t
outrun

I’m gonna get the biggest
box
padlock the past  
and throw it in the ocean

I’m gonna get the biggest
lipstick
red and thick
paint a smile
from ear to ear
while I stand and cheer

I’m gonna get the biggest
torch
and burn this bridge
with no remorse.

I’m gonna get the biggest
Buick
and drive on out
I’m gonna do it!!

him like an onion
layer upon layer.  Women weep
the more in deep. They'll see
he's just a player. I'm gonna

fry him, coat him in the oil,
in rings like Saturn. Cut him up
in tiny pieces, in the soup
to boil. I'm gonna sauté' him

with a cherry hot red
pepper. He'll burn their tongues,
pretty and young, till they see he's
just a *****. Smother him in

the cassoulet. Make him sweat
another day. Mix him with sour cream
and chives, calling him a dip. He sits
as a lump on potato chips.

as a wine stain in my carpet,
let go of his mock and argot. Wipe
the spill on my sofa of the cheese
and fig and mimosa. Plunge the

lace dress into the washer
that turned bright white
into mangy yellow. Sift the grit
out of that fellow. Wash him

out with the tide, so this pain
in me can subside. He's a flake,
a speck of dandruff. Shampoo
him out of my hair, this big, old

hairy grizzly bear! Wash this ****
from around my tub. Scrub it with
the bleach and gloves. "Shout" the ring
circling my collar. Absolve myself of this squalor!

of wanting something
that isn’t mine. I’ve stolen
leather boots and red suede
suits. I never had a problem

taking what doesn’t belong to me. If I
thought I deserved it I wouldn’t
be reserved in grabbing what I wanted
without paying the price.  And it

became a habit that I achieved
very rapidly. I’ve gained a lot of
merchandise. But this time something’s
different. What I want is not on

the shelf, not up for sale, or
even available. But how can I take
somebody’s love without their
permission? It’s not my decision. So, I

must forgo the one and only thing
I would ever need that would make all
the other things look small. Believe it
or not I feel more guilty in the wanting

than anything I’ve stolen. I know I’m
out of place when I see the circle on his
finger, and the pictures of his children. He’s
building a life with another woman. And it

will never be with me –
I’m guilty of loving a man that’s not
mine. This time I can’t take it
for myself. But it breaks my heart
to see him with someone else.

as a kitten swimming upstream
****** as marionette on a string
lower than the Mariana snailfish
feeding on the ocean floor
When did life become a chore?  

I’m bare
as the trees in winter
colder than an Arctic breeze
sour as Lisbon lemon drops
When did I blow it all out like a sneeze?

I'm lifeless
as a mannequin in a department store window
slower than a tortoise walking a tightrope
falling as the autumn leaves
black as a lump of coal
hung over as the eaves on my rooftop
When is this feeling ever going to leave?

not a season. Men
fly high and slow in billowing
dust that blows hot and cold. Splintering

in winter. And hitting bottom
in autumn. I blossom January through
December in fire/not an ember. Spreading

my petals on my pages as men spread
their seeds, in denim and tweed. My words
sing with the birds every morning

as the golden sun is dawning. Sparkle
every night under the sweet moonlight. I harvest
this budding rose as men talk in prose. Watering

every stanza into a lyrical bonanza!

eyes.
For he can’t see
or look out for
his safety.

I'm his
mouth.
For he can’t speak for
himself.

I'm his
hands.
For he can’t
make plans.

I’m Hollow

hollow as an unfertilized egg,
with nothing but the yolk-sac inside,
hollow as an unmarked grave, where some forgotten
soldier laid down to rest after he gave everything

he had when he was alive. Hollow as autopsied bodies
after the organs have been removed. There’s nothing
behind the slats. They’re stuck together by heat and
dust as most things are that never see the light. I’ve tried

to bring them to life. I’ve placed them neatly arranged
in kind homes, gave them a name, prayed and
hoped. And one or two of them out of the many
thousands got a little attention. For that I’m grateful for.

I’m HOT

not because I’m thin.
But because I can smile
when people wear me thin.

I’m HOT
not because I have a pretty face.
But because I can pretty much face
anything anyone can throw me

I’m HOT
not because I have nice ******* that giggle.
But because I’m abreast about
what’s going on this world.

I’m HOT
not because I can move my hips.
But because I am hip to the scene.
You know what I mean?

I’m HOT
Not because I’ve got back.
But because I can back up
anything I say.

I'm HOT
because I'm COOL!

as an old sweater I outgrew
with holes big as blood clots
and unravelling
uneven, fuzzy pilling
broken fibers
tangled into knots
but not willing
to throw the tattered woolly
mammoth out
because despite the loose threads
faded color
and unsharpened arms
that look like cow’s teats
which haven’t been milked in weeks
it still provides me warmth
each time I slip it on

but my heart is bigger
than basketball

I might be thin
but my poetry is thicker
than a football stadium

I might be ******
but my drive it out there
like a grand slam!

over you. The same hand that patted me
on the back slaps me in the face, The same eyes
that looked into mine so lovable show detachment
the next time we embrace. I run away and then

come crawling back home. It hurts to stay. But it
kills me to be alone. One day I’m filled with
elation and song. The next time I’m consumed with
contempt and can barely get along. How can

the same person who once held me up make me
now so furlong? Once I was baking chocolate cupcakes
and sitting in your lap. Now I’m frying the contents
of my brains in a 2oz. shot glass. I used to believe

love was healing. Now I’ve come to know it
as a weapon of destruction. And the fall-out reduces me
to a trash can of burning leaves. All the colors bleed
into black char. And the night rains ashes instead

of water. I feel as a stillborn. I was alive when I
was incubated, safe and warm attached to the cord –
the same one that strangled me. I died the day I was
born. Some things aren’t meant to be.

of skin, arms, legs, and
chin. The only thing
that grows is the hair and the nails
on my fingers and my toes. I take

this prison with me
as I leave.  I paint it with golden
glossy dyes and red polish. So, it shines
over the men that befriend and

abolish. Most don’t see this
cage. It fits me as I age. I can fly. But
I'm not free. I can travel the world
But I take this little girl curled up in a ball

and flung around my shoulders
as a shawl with me. And she weeps. So, I wipe
her eyes with sunflowers and rose gardens
till it looks like we're pardoned. That's key.

my own little bubble. And if
somebody pops it
I’m going to give them
trouble! I enjoy floating in the

air in a cushy orb going
no particular place. Just bouncing off
the treetops and rolling on the
clouds, having them take me wherever

they’re going, like a magic carpet
ride in the sky. It’s my imagination that
creates this illusion. Some call it
fantasies. Some say I’m plain

crazy. They can think what they
want, so long as they don’t disturb
me. But whatever they choose to do they
never will unnerve me!

I’m discarded as the wrapping
you throw away in the trash
After you opened the package
So hurriedly and brash

I’m like the casing of a sausage
that holds the meat in place
until you gobble it all up
wearing bravado on your face

I’m useless as the umbrella
you forgot to pack
Even when it’s pouring
You feel lifted as a jack
And besides, you’ve so very little room,
in your briefcase hollowed tomb

I’m closed as the deal you just made
No one breaks your stride
You seal and store it away
The ink’s not even dried
Like the tear drops in my eyes

I’m invisible to you
as a snowflake that falls in June
It never touches the ground
You don’t notice it fall down

as a cottontail
loud as a nightingale
flappy as a flock of geese
black and slick as burnt duck grease

I’m sweet
as maple pie
soft as a wedge of Brie
thick as chocolate pudding
I spread my lips –
and put my foot in

It’s like an allergic
reaction. You say one word
and here I am overreacting -
I go scratching at

an itch that’s been twitching me
from long ago. I thought it was ancient
history. But it’s putting on
a show. I didn’t know how strongly

I could still be affected. It’s
moments like this that remind me
that I’ve still some healing to do,
that I’m projecting my past

onto you. And I need to
own it. It happened long before
we met. Seems like I’m not
over it yet. It’s like a toddler

tugging my sleeve wanting me
to feed it candy. I try to push it to
the corner. Give it a time-out. But it
doesn’t honor my request. Starving it

only gets it more upset. So, I’m going to
face this little ******. Tell it to go whence
it came, back to la-la land where it
can swim in milk like a cheerio –

and I can swallow it down whole
and drown it in my morning coffee before
I must run off to the bathroom. Coffee does
that to me.

out of the roll call
in high school basketball. None of
the girls picked me for their team. Those
girls are so mean. They walked around in cliques
and taunted me for kicks.

I'm left
out in the cold
so, I froze. I weep droplets
of ice that stick together like grains
of rice. As I blink you can skate
in my rink.

I’m left
out in the red sun
so, I burned. My body
turned from soft, fuzzy peach
to a black, slimy leech. They don't teach
you this in school
that the sun is not so cool.

I’m left
speechless
by the things men say
and do. I’d rather roam the foothills
with the elk and the ewe.

I’m left
holding the bag
by men, I put my trust in. Their
promises thin, blew as dust
in the wind.

in people’s faces
in their expressions
their gaze
their words and what they say
not only what they say
but how they say it
sometimes I’ll misinterpret it
and I’ll feel so blue
because I don’t understand
if I’m worthy of them
sometimes I just feel used
I wish that I didn’t rely on
other people
liking me or not
But that’s the way sales
are made or not –
when you’re an artist

that I’m not a shade
of this color
and I’m so pale
that I don’t match
any other

I’m lower than earth
yet the roots can’t get
a grip on me
lower than a planted seed

I’m lower than the equator
where the smell of burning
flesh is greater than a decomposed
body lying in the sun
and I’m traveling down faster
than the flying nun

I’m Missing

some buttons off my old winter coat. It doesn’t
keep me warm any longer because it won’t close
all the way. I’m missing the cap off my toothpaste. It’s dried

at the top, and  hard to squeeze out these days. I missing
my keys again. I can’t drive the car. So I can’t get to the supermarket. I’m missing my best friend. She hasn’t called for

weeks. Wonder what she’s doing. I’m missing all the things I used to do with my son when he was young, like going sledding
after a snow storm and building forts from blankets

and pillows, gorging ourselves on Halloween candy and watching cartoons on a winter’s afternoon. I’m missing my father something awful. It’s been fifteen years since his death. Cancer

took  him real quick. I still haven’t gotten over it. Sometimes I feel like I’m missing me, parts of myself that I gave to others, parts I’ll never recover. That’s before I got burned, before life taught me

some cruel lessons, before I fell in love and got my heart
broken. But what I’m missing most of all is the chance to do it over again in a different way, knowing what I’ve learned today.

little island. And I only have room
for one or two. I like it this way. Time
has told me who to bring. Time has
taught me many things.  I pack

lightly. I don’t need much, a laptop
to write my poetry, some food and wine
for inspiration. The salty air, the balmy
sea, a blanket to lay on, a palm tree –

and these thoughts that I share with
the world, as if they were here. And they
can be, despite my reputation. I’ve lived
my life in infamy. But I never needed

a reservation. I’m only too happy
with the arrangement. I accepted my oddity.
Now I embrace it.

I don’t ask for sanction
seek imprimatur
live by criterion
I’ve made it this far
wearing my scars
as a badge
for living a hard life
in the face of jeers
through soaked filled tears
I’ve cried an ocean
riding in a river of pain
I rise as the sun
after the rain
none can stop me
I’ll stand unchaperoned
in the face of the crowd
holding my voice
steady and loud

as Mr. Magoo, just a Joey
hiding in her kangaroo pouch. It's warm
inside. So, I don't venture out. I couldn't
see the lion coming. I danced to

the sound of a hummingbird humming.
Danger dressed in an Armani suit
and vest. Rode in a black satin
stallion, drinking his posse up

from a gallon. So near-sighted
I tripped over a cloud looking like
a castle from the ground. But my feet were
not in my shoes. My feet were dangling
in a sky of blues. Sweeping me up

in gale, tossing me in a garbage
pail full of rain, that today I lie in. Drinking
the pain. And in this darkness, I see the lion.
But I don't run. And I'm not hiding in the sun.

but I’m rolling
in the deep. I fell
for a **** looking
creep. I lay his ****

bare. He’s no Roger
Moore. But they call him
The Saint. I painted

him black as the night. Didn't
have him pinned alive. For
all his sin I hit my jive.

Yesterday’s broken
But I’m not
Yesterday’s lost
But I’ve got
Today

Yesterday’s heartache
took me
places I’ve never been
shook me
Tomorrow

I’m not
going to be tossed
on yesterday’s
heartache and loss

a drop of water
I’m the entire ocean

I’m not somebody’s daughter
I’m every woman

I’m not the Eiffel Tower
I’m all of France

I’m not a log cabin
I’m a manse

Most cannot handle me –
only a couple so far

because I’m not a rocket
I’m a Shooting Star

on your coat
to fill up the hole
when you are cold
sewn in place
in the same spot
no matter
if I'm bottom
or top
no matter
if I'm red
or blue
no matter
if I've four holes
or two
no matter
if I’m wood
or cloth  
I'd not
have you replaced me
if I'm lost

of making a fool of myself
for being a **** idiot
for putting it all out there
and getting my **** smeared
****
I do
and I do it again
it sticks to me
like a lost puppy
looking for a lap
to lay
a place to stay
but nobody
throws me
even a left-over
I’m used to being
a scavenger
haven’t you heard
it’s become
my life’s work

I want to make love to you. To strip you
down slowly and kiss each part of you deeply,
inhale your scent and taste your breath, get lost
in your armpits and drown inside your belly. I’m

not afraid to tell you I’ve had this feeling forever
but could never bring myself to say it, because before
I just couldn’t bear it if you were to turn me away,
and the shame, the horrible shame I would face. But it’s

more shame not to confront it, to let it die as the sun
goes down, to let it pull away as the tide goes out. And
knowing that makes me brave, knowing that I gave it
the light of day. Now it’s in your hands to

do with it what you choose. I place my fate in your
palms. I do so unharmed. And I’ve no regret that I said
what I had to, because I will never have to wonder
again, what it is you would have done had  I never told you -
I've always wanted to hold you naked in my arms.

I’m not an Elephant

but I work for peanuts.

I’m not a cat
but they *****.

I’m not a tree
but they cut
me down.

I’m not a cigarette
but I’m the ****
of all their jokes.

I’m not a fire
but you see
me smoke.

I’m not an ice-cube
but I melt.
And the things they say
is deeply felt.