If we split the cow
who would take which end?
No doubt I’d take the mouth
Cause I’ve got crud to send

If we slit our wrists
who would bleed the fastest?
No doubt it’d be I
Cause I could never mask this

If we
Who would tell?
I was never good at keeping secrets

I feel like a bulging drip
on the ceiling tiles, as it grows heavy. It must shed
from its own weight. It collects in a bucket
of overused smiles. Gets thrown out once it’s filled up,

along with the mildew and other rot of broken
promises and lost thoughts. The tinny sound of each plunk
leaves me in a funk. So, I naturally crawl
back inside the spaces overhead where the furring

strips have lost their grip. At some point the whole thing
will collapse like a house of cards unevenly
stacked. But until it happens, I’ll go kerplop. Make bluesy music
with each resounding drop until I reached the top,
and get emptied out again like a longshoreman.

when I’m down
and I’ll fly up
like billowing dust
in the cold bitter wind
and blow in your face
again, and again

Kick me
to the curb
and I’ll disturb
your reverie
you’ll tangle
like a fishing line
and strangle yourself
on the gold braided twine

I’ve kicked
the habit
that was you
and put myself first
leaving you behind
like a *******
with brass
and no shine

in the car, talking to someone
crazy and savage. I’ve nil
to do until I go home
for a drink than to ogle the rain pour
down hard, splinter in shards
on my car window.

Killing time
in the supermarket. It’s
the only thing open. And I’m
hoping it passes the hours, between
the lines and the check-out time.

Killing time
until I go to bed.
Then do it
all over again
the next day.

Lady Luck

What you have
can be lost, in a dash,
from a toss. It’s a numbers
game, has nothing

to do with skill or brains.
Where something lands
all depends
on someone else’s

actions.
Not to say
you haven’t any control.
But alas, it’s not all

your own. It’s a gamble
based on luck. Place your bet.
And if the odds
are stacked

against you,
Wait
Lady luck
is fickle. She'll

kick you
then kiss you.
Don't let her
lick you!

All those things they told me not to do
give or take one or two, I tried hard to resist. And I did. But it wasn’t effortless. But this one thing I can’t ignore. This one thing is going to take more. I can’t stop these feelings I have for you. You might as well get use to the idea I’m not going anywhere.

There’s AA, and gambler’s anonymous, groups for those who love too fast and loose. There’s weight-watchers for the heavy-set, but nothing has been invented yet that could bring me down from the high of seeing you walking by, or your voice on the telephone, no, I can’t kick this habit alone.

So you might want to join me in this state perpetual bliss of kisses and hugs, of love, love, love. We can remain anonymous, like the rest of them, a closed group not letting anyone. There’s one caveat, the membership fee, and that's your heart.

was prism girls
dabbed in pink chiffon
swirls. Dancing pirouettes
through taffy clouds. I can

still hear the cheering
crowds. I raised my glass
with my scope and swallowed a sea
of green. I was tope. And so was the

world of prism girls
dabbed in pink chiffon swirls,
dancing pirouettes through
taffy clouds, stretched out for miles

before Covid
you warned me it was
over. You said there was
no coming back. I knew myself

I could not ask. I did not think
the world would be in disaster. I was
stupid to believe in
happily, ever after. It feels strange

not to call your name. It would
be different if I paid you a visit
after Covid. I would not be able to
hold you. There would be barriers

across our faces. But they were in place
before the Covid struck. I only have
one kind of luck.

as men
mock. They talk
at her, not with. She’s
a cherry. They the

pit. Chew around
it, ******* the juices. Spit
out the stone. Laugh as
men moan. So, they

complain. Ever hear
of a sun shower? It suns
through the rain. She’ll
not refrain. Laugh

with unyielding force
it’d choke a horse! Do it
again! The world can stand
a shake now-n-then!

They’ve taken away my voice again
Given me no choice again
Except to sit it out
And drown in my own drought
They censored everything
Clipped my fragile wing
It brought them great delight
To put upon this blight
Stab me in the back
Split apart the crack
Now that I’m in half
All they do is laugh

are all the same to me. You have
both as a mother. And you wouldn’t
trade the stretch marks for his
brother! The saggy ******* and varicose veins

are the badge of honor that you obtain
as part of the parcel of birth. You unearth
a man twice. And the world as you see is
a casserole made from a grain of rice.

Each step
precariously maken
Every turn
variously taken

Each thought
erratically selected
Every emotion
dramatically projected

Each piece
tenderly created
Every crease
slenderly sated

I want to face this
like a cut-up onion
Layer by layer
till my tears grow bunions

You can bite them off
and swallow them down
with an afterthought
in the shade of brown

We might dispel
all falsehoods yet
Us Geritols
can break out a sweat

Thick as muck
and hard as liver.

Cannot see beneath the webbing.
Rumor has it you’re a legend.

Dale has frosted the knitted lobes.
Things got lost when decomposed.

Sticking out as painted slivers.
Tension one couldn’t cut
with sharpened scissors.

Strangled by expectations
only soured these relations.

Your face is lovely
but my wants are a more
than a set of eyes a mouth and a nose

I want the view from your back door
Won’t you turn around for me
pretty, petite and tiny

Like a tender heart turned upside down
I’d die to see that hiney
Like two full-moons playing bumper pool

it leaves me breathless
And if I could spank it while I yank it
well then I would be defenseless

won't you? A morsel for
the morning, as today’s
is spent. You just looked
out the window-

and it went.

Leave a little
compliment. It won't
**** you. Is it so novel
being mean? Do you glean happiness
from making her fry?

Leave a little
of your pride. Don’t let them
squeeze every last drop
that you’ve not a thing
to mop -

you're bone dry

falling like monkeys
out of the trees, red, yellow
and orange. Pouring down
on me, a blanket of colored

leaves. Sticking to the sidewalk,
wet from last night's rain. Hanging
like a goblin on the window
pane. Clogging up the

gutters. Dangling like silver
tinsel on my half moon
shutters. Piling up in my backyard
like a mountain of laundry. I rake them

and I bag them. They only fall back
down. I blow them with the electric
blower. And they still come back
around. They're all over my deck and

woven in my hair. They must be
building a nest in there! Swirling
like confetti, they tease.
Leaves! Leaves! Leaves!

He said “do you know what you do
leaves us hungry.” I said hunger
is good. Look at me, how I’m starving. I think
he expects me to feed him. Fill the hole

in his soul. I don’t know. I tried to do that
once. It left a man as dust. If he knew he’d run. But
who am I to tell him? I’m only here to sell him
a bag of goods.

Gymnasts use chalk billowing in white
smoky clouds to clutch the high bars.  But heights
frighten me. I never land on my feet. I’ve gotten
rope burns from the tug-of-wars over the years that I’ve

endured. I’ve developed calluses from gripping
the line tightly. Anxiety is expressed in water droplets,
as dew on the morning lawn. It makes it impossible
to hold on when sweat is rolling off. To think what they

used to do, from learning to tie my shoes, to taking care
of a home and family. Now my digits hang as old
sow teats flapping in the breeze. They’ve turned into a
Tin Lizzie, a rusty vehicle that barely moves.  It maddens
me to see an infant’s grasp,

a natural reflex, as hairs on a Venus Fly Trap. The soft,
tiny rows can swallow any bug whole. Old age has swollen
the palms; arthritis has done harm. I have the lines and
creases on both the left and right. They form the letter “M”
to remind me I’m still married.

the sun
burn my face red.
Let the tropical drinks
go to my head.

Let
the sea green water
wrinkle my skin.
Let the wild nights
of partying begin!

Let
the palm trees
dance in the wind.
Let me see not
If I’ve sinned.

Let
all my problems
sleep at home.
Let this gusty woman
for once just roam!

as the dawn
breaking the day
as a swan
laying her eggs

Let go
as a sneeze
coming out of your nose
as ******
curling your toes

Let go
as flatulence
escaping your ***
a quarterback
making a forward pass

Let go
as an angry
spitting llama
a volcano
erupting lava

Let go
with all your passion
and your fury
don’t hold back
and don’t you worry!

child, let go! Even the trees
can’t hold onto the golden
crimson leaves. As a breeze blows
by they lift off the branches. In autumn
they dance as butterflies

Let go
of the thoughts swirling
around in that head. Put them
to bed once and for all. They’ve
taken up a lot of space. You’d be rich
if you charged them rent for the place.

Let go
of this. Every woman has
her moment. But the moment’s
shed as a chick that lost her down. This bird
has flown and left the nest. You’ll not reach
the crest by holding onto emptiness.

They tell you tie a knot and hang-on. I tell
you not. It’s Ok to drop-off when all that
you’ve got to hang-on is threads tying
the ends won’t make a difference.
Your hands gonna bleed from
holding on so long. Gone
your sanity. Break
Free
Let
Go

He's inutile
as a baby toe.

No point of recovering
an appendage that's a runt.

If he were cake, he'd make a Baby Bundt
with a gaping hole in his center.

Should've left
soon as I entered.

rain down on me
let it pour
let my skin repel
every icy drop
of water that fell

Let it
blow gusts of wind
let it knock down branches
let my curly hair do dances
in the storm

Let it
burn me, the sun
till I’ve blisters
let them fill
and with my fists, sirs
I’ll pop everyone
as if it bubblegum

Let it
snow, a blooming blizzard
slapping my face
hard as a lizard
billowing gusts of powdery dust
let it climb past my door
I’ll bore a tunnel through it
crawling out the other side
where the ocean meets the sky

little pony; let it
go. Don’t look back. Ride
the wind. You were meant
for greater things. I know

little pony; I know the hurt
that comes from marching
forward and blazing a
trail. But the barn is

burned down to the
ground. It’s cinders
now. There’s only one way
to go.

You can’t stop the grass
from growing
the wind from blowing
people from knowing

I love you

I tried; but it’s impossible
I can’t hide my love
I wear it as a peacock’s feather
But it’s not ostentatious
just elation of my pleasures
of being in love with you

It’s not something I choose
to fight anymore

What is love
if it’s hidden
It’s meant to be given

What you do with it
is your choice

You can cut it down as the grass
but it will grow back up

You can nail the windows shut
but you’ll still hear the howling of the wind

You’ll feel caged as a rattle snake
that never sheds its skin if you don't let it in

This one says this
That one says that
This one does this
That one does that
What’s the buzz?
Does anyone know –
**** all that ****
Let it roll

Nothing sticks to me
I let it go
Why carry the hurt
of something unknown
Whatever they say
Whatever they do
Whatever think
Has no bearing on me

I’m a fireball of energy
No fierce wind can ***** me out
I’m rolling like an eight ball
Last one on the table
When they all fall off to the corners
I’ll be whispering meow
Always on the prowl

from all the cut down tree
of people we used to please. Let’s
fill in all the cracks so we never have
a leak again. And when we’re ready

we’ll set off high on the mountain
top. You see, we won’t float; we’ll rise
and greet the sun in the sky. We’ll turn
everything upside down so that the sky

will become the ground. We’ll have grass
growing from our ceiling. And the rain will
be a fountain sprinkling out from under
our carpets. We’ll call ourselves artists

and paint whatever we want without
no constraint. And we’ll leave this world
more beautiful because we build a boat
for two.

he said right after he climbed
off me. His ***** was still dripping
on the bedroom sheets that were lavender

from the splendor of an afternoon tryst. I
said I was trying to cut down. But he
didn’t have to twist my arm. So, we quickly

got dressed. Some people smoke cigarettes. We
walked across the hot city street to the bar. Sat
down and ordered two ***** martinis, with extra

olives. He liked eating those, popped them in his
mouth like popcorn at the movies. But the show was
over now. And the bar was black as coal. I had to

adjust my eyes after I left. Because it was a
very sunny day and I came from total darkness.

Let’s Have a Pity Party

I’ll bring the you should
haves and didn’ts. You bring the
sorry’s and wouldn’ts.  I’ll bring a bottle
of rue. Red for me, white for you. You bring

the plate of anguish,
and we’ll make a sandwich of
too little too late. We’ll drink a toast
to all of those who let us down, with a

chaser of it isn’t fair. Those are swell
with the lemon squares~ We’ll swallow the
bitters in the bottom of our empty
glass. Then we’ll laugh as we eat the hors d’oeuvres
of “we didn’t deserve”

down.
close all the borders
close all the universities
no more sporting events
no more company
you stay in your place
I in mine
and we’ll communicate as
we’ve always done –
through the lines

Let’s Make it Real

What if the left
got along with the right?
And the right respected the left?
Imagine if the world were our hands,

to cut off one would make
the life of the other one seem almost
unbearable. They’re used interchangeably,
even when we have a predominant

one. I want to envision
a less polarized world,
a world we love and respect one another,
a world that is kind, that is

understanding and tolerant
of differences. What if we lived
in a place where there was peace,
no fighting or protesting

in the streets? What if we were
as our hands? Open to the idea?
We can make it happen.
Let’s make it real.

says the ***** president. Let’s
squeeze people in like sardines and
ignore this dreaded disease. Let’s get
everyone back to work so we can fill

up the hospital beds when there aren’t
enough ventilators to go around as people
gasp for breath. I want to take that ****-***
and lock him in wally-world or the

supermarket on a busy day or the laundromat
where people have no mind like him! I want to
see him suffering!

blowing on their tufted
tops, floating in the air
like parachutes. Planting
their seeds to fruit. There's no

limit how far they travel. All
these mysteries in time
unravel. Cottonwood
fluff riding the

wind. Their fine down hairs
coating plants and spider
webs. Like a blanket of snow
they spread throughout

the river park in a glow of
white after dark. It only takes
one gritty seed to make it
to a tree.

their way. You go yours.
Don’t beg for invites or
attention. **** em all! Be
yourself. If they don’t approve –

*****! This woman will
not kowtow to no one! She’s
better off alone! There was a time
when their opinion mattered

to me. This day I don’t need
a replacement. I’ve got my poems
and basement to compose. I’ve got
my books out on the internet. Most of all

I’ve got my self-respect! You can’t
package and candy-wrap that. Throw a blanket
on all the beef, grease and fat. And cut
the ****. That’s my motto and it fits.

hasn’t moved. She lost him
to tests and tubes. Two years
in a ward harboring a sedulous
eye, searching for signs of life

that cost her fifteen years
on doctor’s couches and
chairs. Friends came and
went. Too occupied to listen. Six

feet are nowt juxtaposed
to twenty years. Everybody
complains. But to her
it’s all the same.

is tight.  Tighter than the last
notch on his belt. I can look in. He can
see out. But I’ll never feel the strands

of hair on his skin. Yet it won’t disturb
the view of his warm, tender smile
or the gleam in his eye that catches the

light. I shall never pass over the threshold
separating his space from the rest of the
world. This keeps him safe. There will never be

any confusion, the kind that lends itself when
there is union. The heavens can spit on me. But
not a drop will fall on he. The wind can whip

through my hair leaving it messy as the leaves. But
there will never be a wrinkle on him. Everything
under the jar is still. It silences the song of

the whippoorwill.  I won’t place my hand on
the glass. I would never want to make a smudge,
mar the view of the two of us. Because that view is
all we have. And I won’t be the one to streak the glass.

is making him bubble. The strain
in the hazel rounds, the pain he can’t put
down. The pitch of his voice is uneven. They

stuck their line in like floss between his
cracks and made a cross. I don’t
ask. I'm restless in this. Through the cloth -
a kiss.

At least the hugs haven’t a barrier. And I go for it.
Pray I'm no carrier! But after two months I can't  
contain. And seeing him light up through

the black is plain. He broke out of his cage this day
I did call. He asked to go home. We can't wait
for the fall.

in the rink.
He wears no
padded gloves,
instead opts for

brass knuckles. To hit
and not be hit
you must have rhythm
and wit. You got to

dance inside the
ropes. You can’t rely solely
on hope. You’ll get your
share of punches, nose

bleeds and aching
muscles.  There’s not
always a referee to
oversee, especially as an

adult. You’ve got to do it
yourself. And when you’re
down for the count you must
muster the strength to stand up.

Every pass I take
I can’t erase the reflection in
the glass. Mirrors in the clouds. Mirrors in
the puddles on the ground. Even my shadow

carries them around. Mirrors make me look
larger the closer to them I stand. I’m going to
throw them all in the closet. Mirrors in
my car. Mirrors on the wall. They’re all over

the mall. Mirrors in the salon. I’ve been
introduced to mirrors from the day
I was born. I’ve broken them into pieces. I’ve
thrown in them in the trash. I can

no longer define myself from some piece of glass.

it can melt in
your hand. You can
freeze it to preserve it. But
you’ll not savor

the flavor until it’s
unwrapped. The juices
run down the length
of your chin. You’ll

be holding a stick. I’ll hold mine
with a grin. I took it
out of the box, unwrapped it
and lick after lick **** myself

in blue raspberry bliss. I’ve brain
freeze and a blue tongue. But
flings can be flung/songs can be
sung. I’ll not be hung up in

a box. I’ll bleed my colors on
the wood, than stuck in a bag
labeled Hood!

You start out with the basics
But can throw anything in
It can be plain or spicy
Cut up everything
Or leave it whole
Serve it in a big or small bowl
You can go meat or go vegan
Leave mine with the bacon and egg in
Why not be exotic?
Throw in everything – make it chaotic

What will you use for your dressing?
White looks so depressing
Why not go red like the French and Russian?
Oh, I see you don’t like this discussion
Some like it dense
Others only add one or two ingredients
You never know where you'll land
or what will get tossed in
Me, I’m a regular from Boston

Fill it with dirt
You get a mountain of dirt

Fill it with water
It sloshes over the sides

Fill it with yourself
And there’s room for nothing else

Fill it with love
And wherever you wheel it
Will yield beautiful flowers

or a seat at the movies. I don’t want
to be sitting watching someone else’s
adventure on the big screen. I want to
be in the picture, part of the action, not the

fat slob eating buttered popcorn, with
wide-eyed fascination –
the only thrill the old man gets is when
he buys his next ticket. They should all be

like Hugh Heffner, surrounded by
boobalicious woman, making plays like
Brady, and just having a ******* ball –
Don’t let anyone steal your thunder,

or tell ya that your younger days are
gone! Look at J. Howard Marshall, how he
got it going on. Gotta have that gusto, and
foolhardiness to go after it –

so what shall it be? The ride or the seat

Lift these sagging *****
With an underwire bra
Lift my bad mood
like a shining star
Lift the mean of the world
like my shampoo
Lifts the dandruff
Out of my scalp too
Lift my sad eyes
With a broad smile
Lift all my defenses
With compassion
Lift these mistakes
With forgiveness
That’s all it takes
Lift my spirit
Like a helium balloon
Put a song in my heart
Float me away
Not a moment too soon
Lift love
Like it was leaven
In bread
We don't need hate
The world needs a face-lift
And fast
It's not too late
Don't let time pass!

I can’t bloom
until I spread
I can’t spread
until I open
I can’t open
if I’m cut off

please don’t cut me off

bending over, with feathered
leaves grazing the muddy water I hang
under a smoky cloud. The ground
is a sponge, the day young. I move

left to ride, tracing an elongated striking
eight. A tangerine dragonfly skates on
it. He flitters and winks, and flies off
as the wind blows. Where will he

go? I will hover above sky
and water, hearing the loud belch
of the bullfrog, seeing the robust flight
of the geese.

are for
going out on
Stars
are for
making wishing upon
Hats
are for
dropping
Midnight Oil
is for
burning
Mustard
is for
cutting
because
Every Cloud
has
a silver lining
pull the seams
to get at
your dreams

doesn’t cover
a frown. It can turn  
the lips to wine or azure,
plum, pink or lavender. But

you’re an amateur. The waxy
paste sticks to the cloth, you
have to  toss. And your painted
smile rinses out

in the wash. The gloss
can’t shine the river
of brine swelled as a wave
above the nose on your face.