I walked up
for fifteen years. Some days
I traipsed up them
with haggard breath. Some days I

bounced up them
like a lunatic on ****. Some days
I climbed them as a mountain,
the steps a foothold. Some days I

waltz up shimmering,
a woman to behold. Some days I
ran up fast as a cheetah,
filling in the gaps as

an overloaded pita. I climbed them
wet in boots, trudging in
the snow. I climbed them in flip-flops,
sticking out my toes. I climbed

them in muddy sneakers, and studded
stilettos. I wasn’t aware until now –
planks of wood could
moisten my eyes. The carpet

covering his steps is neat and dry.

as water vapor hanging
in the air. Until my parts crystalized
did someone know I was there. Then
I started sprinkling on everyone. Young

children stuck out their tongue
at me. The dogs ****** on me,
turning my white into yellow. Making me
smell. And the cars with their rubber

tires sprayed their dirt all over
me until I was sludge and looked more
like mud than what I was supposed
to be. Teenagers squeezed me in

their hands and flung me with all
their might at other children or cars
passing by. Some rolled me up into
three ***** stacked them tall. Said I

was a person, after all. They slid down
on me with rubber, plastic and skis. I gained
momentum when I rolled down the mountain,
collecting more of myself until I was

this giant ball that could not move
and sat and stalled. Until the sun shined
on me. And made me a friend. That’s when
I started melting.

as the walls caved in
and the ceiling grew mold.
The air is all I've left
to hold.

I stayed with him
as the wind blew cold.
And I froze in place
without a face
to weep or smile
or feet to move me
from the wreckage
of the fallen tiles.

I stayed with him
in the reverie.
Buried, this rose
under the April snow.
Covered it up
till this turned to dust
in the sun.

I left him
with no storm or flurry,
just flew off in a hurry.
Left no note or line,
no handmade script.
I gave no sign
like all the times
I’ve let slipped.

the tarmac and out of
my world
into the cabin
I stood
made from aluminum
not out of wood

I stepped off
the land
and into the sky
the white *****
of fluff danced
in my eye

I stepped off
the mundane
into the sublime
palms and iguanas
and lots of sunshine

dropping his chin
down to his chest?
Yesterday his grin
was neatly pressed.

Is that him
telling those lies?
Yesterday his heart
was swelling twice the size.

Is that him
dragging his feet?
Yesterday he was bragging
he can't be beat!

Is that him
Putting on airs?
Yesterday he was hotfooting
down stairs.

Is that him
kissing a girl?
Yesterday he was missing
me. I was his world.

Is There Anybody Out There

Who would love a hug?
A walk in the woods,
Some quiet time alone, hand in hand?
Anyone out there
who would care to hear
this lonely woman’s dreams?
Anyone?
It seems the world is full of people.
Yet no one comes when you call.
It seems the world is full of trouble.
Yet no one wants to help.

out there that can
catch a butterfly before
her colors melt in
the razor hot sky?
Before they bleed
in the sun? And forever
stain the rye?

Is there anyone
that’ll listen to
the rantings of
a cockatoo before
she chokes on her stew?

Is there anyone
that’ll uncover a rose
beneath the April snow
before a man crushes
it again so, it doesn't have
space to grow?

out there?
Anyone?

Is there someone
I can love?

Is there someone
who will love me
exactly as I am
not who they wish
I was to be?

Is there someone
who can fill
my lonely days?

Is there someone
who can take away
my pain?

Is there someone
I can call friend
without having expectation?

Is there someone?
I want to know.
I’ve been waiting for you.
But you never show.

to me? The thick cherry
gloss is brushed on her cracked
lips. Bent over the table she slips
on the dangling conversation

wearing a red pencil smile drawn
on from this morning. She takes
a heavy breath from her burning
cigarette. We look like two

silhouettes against the
paisley prints covering the walls
behind the smoke screen. I nod
as if listening, while sipping

***** and lime, and eying
my cell for the time. And my head
is on the ceiling that's peeling
like layers of an onion, dangling

like the conversation, but not breaking
off. She streaks the glass, leaving an
imprint with her mouth. I hail the waiter
for the check, so I can check out.

the sun will rise
high as apple pie
in blue chiffon
as the day you were born.

I suppose
the rose will bloom
in the garden. The petals
won’t harden
as I.

I suppose
the salmon will jump
up the waterfalls,
ducking bear claws,
******* up
water as straws.

I suppose
children will wet their toes
playing in the snow. And their faces
will look as cherries. Their breath
will hover as a mother.

I suppose
the earth will orbit
the sun, as another year is
over -

You've stopped growing older.

back and forth on the red and
black hammock in my backyard. Tied around
the tree, tied just like me to things that
don’t make a sound. Fast or slow/high or low
I’m lifted off the ground.

I swing
to the song of the robin bobbing up
and down in my teal birdbath. He drinks
and makes a splash, wetting his wings. Then takes off
for better things.

I swing
my head to the neighbor’s screaming
kids. As they’re breaking up this reverie
two squirrels hanging from my tree are batting at
the birdfeeder. Spilling the seeds on the ground
as it swings to the sound of the breeze.

do you fill it up with tangibles?
like marijuana and spaghetti? and wash
it down with ***** and Juice
are you surrounded by others who don’t know
anything about you?
do you never bother to tell them the truth?
do you smile when you feel like crying
not to make other people feel uncomfortable
do you lie when they ask how your day was
to spare them an earful
do you go through the motions?
not understanding why
do you toss and turn at night and get up
a million times to go the bathroom
do you ask yourself what is the purpose of your life?
well if you do –
your life is a lot like mine

in his eye. Large as a bolder,
it rolled me over like a steamroller. And I,
the tar. He smoked me out

as my grandpa’s cigar. I, lit sitting in
the tray among my ashes. But he took
my and lit me up from a stub, with a

rub of hands. Then began to smoke me –
again.

It All Began with Mother

She sustained and nourished your life inside her
own body. She was the shell to your seed until you became
her appendage, as the dangling mobile, the one that hung over
your crib. She turns the **** and it plays a lullaby as it turns in

circles of swirling colored jungle animals that dance before
your fluttering eyes. It’s supposed to lull you to sleep by some
artificial means. It’s never mother’s arms that hold you,
never mother’s breast that feeds you, never mother’s voice that

soothes you. It’s all done by some mechanical toy. She sleeps soundly in the other room as you cry, wet and cold and
lonely. The stuffed animals have stopped dancing. The music
is silenced. They look scary in the dark. Their shadows

are larger than life on the wall. The lion’s mouth is hungrily open. The Rhino’s horn is a sword  What was comforting is haunting. You wail out and wiggle until you’re redder than a cooked lobster coming out of boiling water. It all began with mother.

the star-spangled banner
or Beethoven’s 9th symphony

to register. It can be mundane
as a husband’s note to his wife

hung on the icebox about
his eating the plums

his wife kept for her breakfast
they were cold and sweet

short and brief

long. It can be short. It doesn’t
have to be every day, depending
on what you’re doing. It doesn’t
have to be a special occasion –

but it will make you feel special
it will leave you feeling cared for
it’s in your pocket, or pocketbook –
you look at it all day long

go on call me –
give me a chance

how you leave,
door or window
I won't grieve.

It doesn't matter
how long it takes
weeks or days
just go away!

It doesn't matter
if you tell
ever man or woman
I put you through hell.

It doesn't matter
all the lies
you weave.
All that matters
is you leave!

around. It's pouring down
inside my walls. I paint them bright
red with cherry gloss. But like moss,
I'm flowerless and haven't

roots. I grow in the damp. She left
her stamp on me with the palm
of her hand, burning into my
face. On my back is an imprint

of her shoe, with colors black
and blue. They match the hue
of the midnight sky. The only thing
I own that shines. She died in

her cocoon. She didn't turn into
a flying stained glass of orange
gold. She didn't pass on those colors.
But she did pass.

like a monster
in the movies. I tried
to run from it. But it was
too fast. I tried
to give it the slip –
But it stared me down
in the face. I was no match
for it. Even though I
clashed with it –
I couldn’t escape. I waited
it out in hopes it would
give out. But it only made me
give in. It’s something
I can’t figure –
How it got me
in its clutches, and wooed me
with its touches
even when
I was choking.

dwarfed and obscure,
sit neatly arranged for all to adore.
Parched from the aridity, neglected by the sun,
I the bonsai never truly begun.

Cast in the shadows, growing off to the side,
never fully *****, always wanting to hide.
I the bonsai have the capacity to grow,
a little warmth and attention is all I need you know.

is a glass ball
and someone took a bat
and smashed it all
and as the pieces descended
the ones that landed on a cloud
stayed suspended
it was their hibernation
to wait with the pain
and frustration
while all the others hit upon impact
but nobody stayed intact

the scales on his back
were part of his leather jacket.
His short legs ran in family.
His mother and father
were not gangly.
And even if he left me gutted,
I hadn't a thought
that he was cold-blooded.

But I’m realizing I carry much more
with everything else. I carry these anguished
thoughts in my head. I carry the weight of
the world upon these tiny shoulders. I carry
the pain in my heart always. I carry all this extra

weight around my belly.  I carried my boys
in my ****** for nine months a piece. And a long
time ago I carried them both in my arms. But now
that they’re grown my arms hang low by side
with nothing to hold.

last night when I couldn’t sleep
it was a hell of a lot better than counting sheep
and then again as I rolled this old body out of bed
and put pen to paper

your face was there floating
over the page like a big balloon at the Macy’s
Thanksgiving Day parade
and the thought of seeing you again

having your eyes lock with mine
is it a dream?
it’s a spot of light in this dark graveyard
a planted flower

a pint of ale
a sun shower and the rainbow
with all its color at
the end

It looked like that from the inside
But outside how was I to know your feelings
I was only dreaming that this I could catch yours
And your feelings towards me would change
By sharing secrets between the two of us
That this would build trust
But it got broken down to two –
Me and you
And somehow, I got lost in the toss of
Trying to define it
Or maybe manipulate it
Or mold it into one this
But my this was different from yours is
And I swore I would respect it –
Give it space
And not name it
as if it was gender neutral –
maybe not call it
and whatever that is be happy to have it

a lemon chiffon
but as time went on
you grew sour
every drop I squeezed ****
no more a la carte’

I thought you were
a sunflower
a golden bright tower
but you were only a dandelion
killing the grass
I was lying on

I thought you were
a red and orange butterfly
gifting me with wings to fly
but you were sadly a moth
that flew off

a crystal beach
of snow-white sand
and turquoise sea
so, within my reach
a violet starfish in my hand
til the day you ran

I thought you were
an azure sky
of marmalade dancing butterflies
till the day you lied

I thought you were
a lullaby
soft on the eyes
lulling me in reverie
on feathered twilight wings
how could I tell
the heartache you’d bring

I thought you were
the golden sun
a blooming garden
I was young
but as I leaned in for a kiss
darkness fell like an eclipse

and said “spank me, spank me”
with your belt. The look on his face
gave him away. He vicariously smiled,
all the while as I took his hand and applied it

to my rear. We were both on the floor
very close to his office door. His legs were
crossed. But I still saw his crotch. I laid my ****
over it. He enjoyed the view. And what I was

simulating was stimulating to us
both. He later told me after many years
that he was worried that if he spanked
me hard I’d run to the board again telling them. But
I kept it our little secret until now.

to see
the golden sun rising
over the horizon
shining yellow rays
on another day
of my dark pain
if it only rain
the sky would weep with me
and I'd have company

It hurts
to hear
the warble of the starling
calling to his darling
as I'm screaming in silence
without a bouncing echo
burning up the night
climbing the walls
like a gecko
if only it would hush
I wouldn't feel like slush

It hurts
to touch
garnet grains of sand
I feel as if my life
is slipping through my hands
I'd place it in a hourglass
so, I would see every ruddy granule pass
as the mountain grows
a dusty crimson rose

its’ carried
within you
it’s the mole
on your face
the sty
in your eye
the snarls
in your hair
the canker
in your mouth
the callous
on your hands
the knots
in your stomach
the cyst
on your back
the blister
on your foot
and the bunion
Look What
he’s done

onyx black
glossy from front to back
looking up from the walnut coffee table
across from the television and cable

years in the making
if it’d rise as the bread baking
but it doesn't wear a jacket
and a lot of men just sack it

letters in printed lithography
a creamy paged biography
nursed, as a mother with her babies
but through the rabidness gave rabies

bended spine and stained
every line the writer pained
can’t make the New York Best seller's list
closed off like a fluid-filled cyst

no editor, agent or publisher
not in volumes like the travels of Gulliver
this self-published and vanity
leads to a life of insanity!

dandruff in my hair
white as
my old man’s underwear
cold as inside my fridge
don’t want a drop –
not even a smidge

It looks like
boots and mittens and overcoats
kids prancing in the slush
like Billy goats

It looks like
a mountain in the parking lot
take me somewhere
it’s hot

It looks like
I’m not cut out for this –
Just another spot
for dogs to ****!

something
can never be
was it a dream
a ruse
you used to amuse
and burned out
at the ends
after a fashion
promises -
holograms we ran
our hands through
electric light
orchestra
a split beam
was not it

the sound
would be muted.
Robins wouldn’t sing,
and the crickets all’d drown.
The waves out in the ocean
would rise up without a splash.
What would matter?
The rain upon my windowpane
wouldn’t pitter-patter.

I told him
the scene
would be erased.
There’d be no colors.
The green grass would
be brass. There’d be no golden
yellows, or no sky azure.
The marmalades would fade.
All would be obscure

I told him
if he leaves
the rose would not perfume.
I wouldn’t smell the mint
in the garden, even in full bloom.

I told him
I would not be heard
or seen. And all that I touch
would cut. He was the only softness
I’ve felt. And the days would run
like the molasses flood until I turned to rust.

a second
to lift up the lips into a smile
a smile
to light up someone's day
someone's day
you've made happy

It only takes
a thought
to make a plan
a plan
set into motion
to have a dream

It only takes
a hand
to plant a seed
a seed
to grow a tree
a tree
to fill a forest
a forest to become a home
to roaming animals

It only takes
a dropped cigarette
to create a spark
a spark to ignite a fire
a fire
to burn down a forest
a burned forest to ****
all the animals

for truth to turn into
lies. To make naked
the guise. The whole world
pushed to the side. And just a second

for a mistake to break him,
shattering the tinted glass. Fragments,
lasting. Casting light on
the brokenness, stripping him

of all that he is. And in a second,
a man's life -
snuffed out like a fire,
falling off the wire.

to ******* over if they’re a
mass-destroyer. They can pretend to
be a hundred different men, with different
names and profiles. Run havoc with

their narcissistic guns loaded and spill
out sewerage all over you. Ruin your career if
they can’t have you for themselves. They want to
isolate you so you’ll be with no one else. This

is slander at its best. They repressed all human
consciousness into the tip of their little *****-
the ****** have a way of playing mind-games. Passive
aggressiveness the psychology books call it. I don’t

give a ****. See, this woman won’t curtail her
words to tailor fit into a narrow *****’s head!! Never
have. Never will. Do you see this stopping me? ****
No! I’ve got a mind of my own, and a few missiles I can use.

I don’t take Any Man’s Abuse!

I took it with me

to the grocery store today. We walked
the aisles searching for the ketchup
and mayonnaise. I got distracted in
the check-out line. Thought the drawer

of the register was a church bell
tolling the beginning of the hour. I put you
back in place, with a tint of red streaked
on my face, a little blush was I for my

dalliances, this time. Outside the wind tugged
at my hair as a baby does, clutching
the long straw-like honey strands as if they
were dandelions in tiny,

****** hands. And then releasing them,
but not without pulling a hefty ***. Looked
for my car. But I got lost, as I always do
in my thoughts.

last night in bed. Put them
on the end table beside my bed. Why

did I do this, I said - when I woke up groggy
the next morning, hung-over and

exhausted. But I couldn’t remember
a thing, except that I was angry at you again.

as a lost ship
out at sea
on a blanket
of dreams.

I tossed
as a potato salad
that’s left out
in the sun
in a mayonnaise haze
through the day.

I tossed
as the wash
in the spin cycle
like a stationary bicycle
that doesn’t leave
my street. I’ve pedals
on my feet.

all out. That’s how
I learned it’s sordid. I sort of
knew before I found out. It made
me sore to see. So, I put my

dark sunglasses on,
the spectacles with the tinted
shades. Turned my head and
said not today.

It Runs

as a rip in my stocking. It grows with
movement. We never sit still. We’re never
perfect. There are other ones, newer,

in-tact. They don’t get ripped. They sit
still, inside they’re cartons.  When they
come out they’re careful.  So careful they wear

gloves. To be worn is to be stretched and
misshapen into something else. The last result
was a giant hole. That pair was thrown

out. We’re too smart for that. We have
too much class. We can stretch without tearing.

and he’s holed up
in the hotel. Spent the whole day
flying while she was going to doctor’s
appointments. Now waiting for the

results. Thought he should get some sleep
because he’s got a busy day ahead
of him in the morning. She’s wide awake
pacing the floor. Every step makes a

creak on the boards. They’ve never
been replaced, just like him. He’s on his stomach
soundly asleep like a baby. She’s wondering
what will become of her life? And if maybe she’s

going down for the final count. Does she have  
the will to survive? Can she hold out this time? It’s
been too much and too many years have flown
past her. While she’s counting the hours to her

next drink he’ll be showering and suiting up to look
swanky for the afternoon. God, it would be sublime
just to hold him in her arms. But he’s holding today’s
busy schedule right there in his hands. He looks over

himself in the mirror before he leaves the disheveled
bed for the maid to fix up once he’s left. Don’t forget
to hang the sign on the **** to let them know it’s ok
to come in so they can deliver fresh linen. Now he’s off.

And she’s off her rocker. Did he pick up the socks
off the floor? Will she pick up herself once more,
like the many times she had to go on without him.

Where did you put your head
last night? Did you leave it with him
when you turned out the light? He kissed
you full on your lips. You were

dreaming this. Because he’s three thousand
miles away. It was after you drank the sea
green appletini and sank on the couch
worried sick about the test results. When the

doctor took your pulse you knew
it was rising as the interest on your credit
card. He knows that you’re scarred
for life. Your future hasn’t been very

bright. It’s been duller than the pale imitation
you’ve invented through your imagination. It’s a
knife that needs sharpening. All it does is leave
stains on your carpeting. What will it be

tonight? Blue as the Harvest moon, tasting
like fresh squeezed oranges. Stirred with a spoon
or shaken? It doesn’t matter at all. Because you
know he won’t call. It’s not the color that does

the trick. You say you’re going to quit. But
you won’t ever get better while he’s in
a different time zone. And so much is left
unknown. So, sink in the drink and maybe
you’ll kiss him again when the sandman says –

he’s the only one who calls in the evening

before it turns into
an explosive nightmare.
Careful what you wish for.

You dream it in the dark.
Can't see it in the light.
It's only a silhouette,
flat as a crepe.
Draped over your bed at night.

It'll shatter in your hands
once it comes to life.
And to think you made the plans
that caused your own demise.

to earth. Give the man
a wide berth. The crash puts him
in pieces you try to collect. But no
room is left in your pocketbook

of tricks. You picked him
out of the lineup of men. He stood out
as a topiary in a forest of trees. And blew
through your blouse as an ocean

breeze. He painted the rose
on your cheeks. He slipped the glass
slipper on your foot. The bell strikes
the hour in your ivory tower. It rained

ashes the day he fell. The sidewalk
looked like lumps of coal from hell. The pedestal
crashed to the ground. You don’t need
a ladder to climb up to the sky. You can float
on a cloud. . And wave to the passerby’s.

of fifty-five. And I'm still alive! I’ll be masked out
to death! Have to cover my breath as
I have my hair dyed. Have to do the same
entering the restaurant chain. But they can’t

confine me as I dine in gleam over a steamed
lobster and oysters with my family. If my
birthday fell a couple of weeks past I’d not have
this choice. So, progress has kept

tradition. This'll be surreal
until the cocktail kicks in. And the meal
of shellfish has saturated my belly. I’ll roll
out, legs of jelly in a black mask,

that doesn’t match my pastel, floral blue
dress. But I’m not here to impress –
just stuff my fat face.

speeding on the track. Once
it starts there's no turning
back. It's a kettle of
bubbling screams. It whistles

pain in sweating hot
steam. It’s lightning hurling
its bolts between clouds
and ground. But today

it didn't make a sound. It pitter
pattered like toddler feet, stumbling
between fits of sleep. Drinking it
down with moonshine last night,

till the throat was burning and
chest tight. It's a warrior badge
pinned to the breast. A scrawny
lion that feeds without rest.

the people leave, and you collect the cards,
the sprayed flowers and yourself.

It’s after
you go back to the empty house, the empty
bed, the pillow without his head. The sheets
that will not be slept in tonight or any
other night from here on.

It’s after
the first day, the first week, the first month,
first anniversary. In fact, everything becomes
a first again. But this time it’s without him.

before. And shall be said
again. That friends can turn into
lovers. But lovers cannot turn
into friends. I cannot talk to you
without wanting to kiss your

strawberry wine lips. I cannot walk
beside you without wanting my hands
around your lean square hips. I cannot
look up at the stars without seeing

them in your shiny chestnut
eyes. No matter how long it's been
I cannot cut these ties. I cannot
pretend it doesn't pain me

to see you with another
woman. I don't like to be
like this. But this heart in my
breast has turned wooden as
a spoon. Without your warm

caress nothing sticks like the snow
in June. I still lose my breath when I look
at you. Guess I'll go to my death
without saying these two little words “I do.”