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I wanted to write a poem
about kissing walls of all
shapes and sizes, about
davening or dervishing
not to mention shokeling
or the Arabic equivalent
but who wants to start
any sort of war? not me
said the girl no longer
a girl so if you see me
with a black box wrapped
tightly around my cocked
to the side head and I am
trying to kiss a rock
and not you instead-
please don't take it
personally- I'm as
confused as you
although I carry no
ammo or weaponry
or even self righteous
blather: I am not from
here or there or anywhere
you think might matter
in fact I do not matter
at all, perhaps I have
Tourette's, perhaps
I like to spin in place
and kiss rocks and
rub my skinny Irish
face at tourist traps
of no specific religious
affiliation, perhaps
I am CONFUSED
by all of your
tourist maps
read the back flap
(*Disclaimer: we hold
no responsibility for
your imminent
death, biblical  
or otherwise)
I write very few political or religious poems for obvious reasons. This one I believe is my second one of that kind.
Oct 8 · 62
Morning, We
I would like to
**** a you or a
me, starkly
purely, so
much more
stutterly and
with a fork
says She
Go then, laughs
(pulls sheets
over knees)
says He
colder shoulder
cold bare ***
Your window
smells like cars
says She
Pools of sweat
lost of joy
taste of tongue
barely, Could
you please
asks She
possibly
feed me?
Oct 6 · 63
I Bear Witness
I don't know why I
stopped whatever
I was doing, likely
nothing, which is
hard to stop
doing
But I did, I
even stopped
moving my hands
and spent a moment
not recognizing them
like a word said over
and over again until
it sounds foreign
like detergent
de... ter... gent...
detergent
detergent
detergent
O yes, that was it
I stopped saying
detergent
and
I looked over at
the mulberry tree
the very moment
it dropped each
and
every leaf
soundlessly
no rustling, not
even a breeze
How fortunate
to shut up long
enough to bear
witness to such
things
Sep 27 · 66
Meh Feresum Luff
Meh derl'n, meh dere
who laid meh heer,
lait'ly on meh bak
ta stere et theh stars
frum theh windo clere
an mite ev'n been fruhm
mars

Laid here fair an squair
ta tuch an tuch, o yoo
an so much, on theh
uth'r side fruhm meh

Lait'ly dere, throo
a vale of teres) yoo
luff, quake b'nethe
me brethe an awl
theh uth'r stuff
weel cullit quite
like deth meh
dere
phonetic representation of the drunken Scottish girl in my head
Sep 27 · 50
Small Fictions, One
I am going to have a dinner party
(my heart is set, do not try and
discourage me)
The psychiatrist asks, "How
long has this been going on?"
fuckingtwitfuckingassfucking
doctornowaren'tWEtwee?
my inner dialogue kicks in
without the slightest prompting
I am going to have a *******
dinner party and not even you
can stop me
(you see I lived in a hollowed out
shell was stuffed inside onetwothree
sometime in 1962  or was it '63?
I think I think at least I think
it was me
until
they dragged me out by
my leg and plopped me
down on this bug eaten
couch O
THE INDIGNITY)
I'm going to have a dinner party
then they'll see
this little dump here?
naturally it's only temporary
that's what they keep
telling me
but they won't, they won't
stop pulling at me,
rubber fitting for my mouth
"Bite down!" how bout how
bout say please? and the rest
of them they sit in a row
and tell me it's for the
electricity (who's
the crazy one now?)
I'm going to have a dinner party
and none of you can
stop me
Sep 27 · 39
Breaking Bread
I sit on a stone
grave next to
Truffaut's stone
tomb, breaking
the spine of a loaf
of bread and the
smell of sausages
stuck in our coats
and clothes and
even our heads

We break each
other (we break
each other's hearts
like that) without
words for love
We break each
other instead

It is Autumn and
the entire flat leaks
the radiator spits
on us as we don't
sleep and

In the dim light of
six am I hang my
half frozen body
out of a window
smoke a cigarette
and flick my ashes
on the pagan altar
below, littered each
morning with condoms
another rite of passage

Like spreading crumbs
on a tomb of a long lost
idol; without kisses
without warmth
all of that was
supposed or
imagined or
meant to come
from my heart

I traveled 6,000 miles
to find out he did not
carry my heart with
him but left it home
and unattended

We talked about this
breaking bread, the crack
between the living and
the dead

And just like that
all the world
dropped
dead
I take small bites like
a stomach locked in
      a corset
my heart, too
is trapped under
a vice
I do not make
a pig of myself
I give my eyes
a sense but not
a solid reality
why linger in this
tomb (you see
the moment we met
he was already dead
to me)
Love my dear is
a eulogy
Buy the cheapest
box and move on
Cardboard
Victorian
The last of that
model and would
      it be pretentious
to have my stone
      inscribed:
The wallpaper was
killing me
?
Sep 22 · 26
Metaphor
TONGUE breech
birth RIPPED free
from the first BATTLE
CRY of infancy- a
SCREECH from
Mommy's tomb-
you made a poem
of me
DARLING meet
the OUTside
of the womb
a perfect crescent
shaped doom
death SQUAD
hair SPRAY
b-way play
YOU make big
deals of your
moral decay
GIMME AN F
GIMME AN E
gimme gimme
gimme a ****
tionary
YOU are a poet
now go
away
She enters a room
with a compact stare
that SNAPS SHUT
sooner rather than
later and if you get
chewed in her moments
or get a leg caught in
the trap of her gaze?
count yourself as lucky
to have not been stomped
on the spot by the click
and clack of her simply
entering a room in long
strides, her legs like a
compass with two sharp
toes marking the dark
divide
because

No one shares her space
even as she marches head
first into a wall or face
down in your purse
because

she is ALL GEOMETRY
GET IT? not your sort
of thing

She hovers like a florescent
bulb leaving spots in her
wake, purple mostly

She leaves a room ******
of its color, she's a *******
layer cake

She exits, always, in great
haste taking the wind and
leaving NOTHING not even
you, nope

She was perfect when vertical
and even when folded in half
a pretty good sport
because

She writes her name
on the bottom of one shoe
and her address on the
other just in case
she is ever again
horizontal
(wink)

Now, layered in ashes
upright as an umbrella
stand I give her urn a
good shake, y'know
as an old friend
because

That's how I am
Sep 12 · 220
Madness
My brain
this cage
this basket
of consciousness
like two hands
holding a bee
fingers letting
in the idea but
not the reality
of flight
one dumb
thumb
pried away
from the
other
I am
free
Sep 9 · 45
My Mistake
I am the untied version
of you, shoe full of nothing
unscrewed and unchewed
a puncture in space and
time meant to hold us
in place where even
a well placed heel
won't do

The rhyme and reason of
a fork with two tines replacing
the precise oneness of
the edge of a knife

Sooner or later we will walk
on four heels, two for each
shoe

You can dress me up
but you can't take me
out

Besides, who will wait
on you?

I cannot occupy two places
at once, the served and the
server, even with a quick
costume change

Order for me, will you?
Sep 6 · 47
Your Mistake
I am not a sentry
I do not stand with
my hands full of honey
flowing with *** juice
dainty footfalls marching
in place quiet as a panther
smile draped on my face

I practiced winking
in the mirror but I come
off as a psychopath
my come hither look
missing a fork and
you

What else can I do
while I wait here for
the likes of you?

I believe you want me
still warm, hot even
like a mirage on hot tar
not me but still sort of
me, shut up completely

Like a tomb

I have never been more
decisive, keeping perfectly
still in this tiny room
Aug 29 · 51
Better Than TV
What she saw, it was better
than any TV, better even than
Marcus Welby and ever since
Quincy ruled that punk rock
music was the cause of death?
You can keep your fancy plots
and all of that mess
she said to the general public
from her window then pulled
her head back in just in time
for a quick breath

The TV stays on from habit
and anyway the sound it makes
even when the volume is off?
she can't explain its comforting
presence or how it feels like
an old friend who doesn't
criticize or ask for anything
ever or like a wife who was told
to shut the hell up long ago
and by some miracle she's
not said a single word since
like that, comforting and
silent and if she were real
instead of the electric air of
the TV set? well, our friend
would swear she's fat

(and also friendly, not a
smudge of malice)

Anyway the woman in the
window has had a lifetime
of that- malice, scorn, as each
year dropped off like a coin
in a purse with a hole

Stillborn

What an awful word

But there are moments
when life comes alive, not
so much in but always
outside

It's like waiting for her
favorite soaps

The TV shows the bloated face
of someone familiar, maybe
Rock Hudson or Doris Day
(she snickers who are they
kidding?) and she has never
met a single person who
came near to being that kind
of happy, she is certain
no one is that happy

Nonetheless she hears some
singing, sticks her head into
the breeze that carried the notes
to her- a skinny black woman
marches back and forth in the
park with an invisible baton
in her hand, belting out O
SAY CAN YOU SEE? WHAT
THE CRACK'S DONE TO
ME?

(yes, we can.)

The woman in the window
claps heartily while the one
in the park takes a bow
(O
WOW she heard me! both
of them think at the very
same time)

The park is full of action
just the other day she saw
one bag of laundry approach
another bag of laundry and
the first bag pulled out a gun
from one of his many pockets
while the second bag produced
what must have been money
and so one bag of laundry
sold a gun to another bag
of... I swear! she says
to Doris Day

And that's how it is any
old day, see? and how
much better it is than
TV?
Aug 22 · 92
Let's Call it a Woman
O hell this thing (let's
call it a woman for now)
she walks around to the
bark of his orders, bends
over backward to his
sieg heils and and
and
Hatred will set you free
and and and if only I could
crawl away on all threes
she says better you than
me with the last bit of him
caught in the jaws of her
snap! snap! snap! having
torn off the hand that fed
her (who cares?) it's a
rap! rap! rap!
See how things change
so quickly, see?
This Greek arriving empty
shaking ******, the Trojan
horse she rides atop, wasn't
it glamorous? demanding
gifts rather than receiving
them except for the vicious
and banging pieces
banging their way
out of her mouth, she
could only SHUT THE
**** UP for so long
(see?)
and now it's too late
*******, you're my
*****
(see?)
She misunderstands
EVERYTHING and so
she waves her vicious lips
once meant to please you
now spitting out a charm
a spell, a hell bent burnt
mantra and now
The world is wrong
including you (get used
to it)

She tells him in so many words
he only has borrowed minutes
minutes here and at a high rate
of bare and bored interest and
he had better return the unused
portion, dragging it out of a
lion's mouth
Aug 22 · 59
Impossible, You
YOU O you o impossible
you, would like me to
fit you into my mouth
with a shoe horn you
and a shoe OPEN WIDE
(he says) spread those
wings and he pulled me
apart from the inside

If I could IF I COULD dear
I would fly away from
you

YOU O PSYCHOTIC o
******* (and *******
again, *******) you
dear o you smear o rip
me wide open like you
do O PANZERBLITZ you
treat me like your own
personal Jew

you O MERCILESS YOU
you fed off of me, you and
your little fake **** of a face
YOU ******, FOR SO LONG
it was only you

me (O ME) WHAT you left
of me, there on the side of
your shoe, dog ****, no I am
not, simply not, YOU FORGOT
what you left behind left to rot
***** you

(and yes and yes and certainly
so much less, you nullified me
and nothing here, nothing left
to fix with your rotten
tools)

Like a child you liked to
see how things worked
from the inside pulled
apart one piece at a time
the clock no longer ticks
and I don't think so, no
this heart no longer
kicks, put back together
like this, BANG UP JOB
if I must say so and I
must
Jul 31 · 94
Outrage
Your outrage is a foot
on my throat, my mute
mouth is no match
against the clatter
and bash, like
the banging of pots
and pans on New Years
Eve, your outrage is
expressed as joy
while mine is broken
into a thousand silent
pieces, mine now
yours
Your outrage has
made mine invisible
and even improbable
You are the worst
kind of thief
of uncountable
things
with no evidence
of your onus, once
mine, heavy with
time but made
light of
No wonder your
outrage comes so
easy, weightless
as it is
I do not want
to be any part
of the cause
you took from
me, made
ridiculous
squalid and
squandered
I want you to feel
the real thing, at
least. up until the
moment it silences
you
Jul 17 · 86
The Land of Happy
I live 10,000 miles under
the sea, I am this happy
gasp of air, the thud of
my blood beating in my
ears, I saved this breath
for you and for me

Darling twisted happy
a conk shell to hear you
and the sand that slips
between our toes, the  
grist and grind of every
human kind I see your
face swapped for one
wave after another
I call this Repose

I could wait forever

You are some kind of
fish, now ain't you?

I know you're learning
how to breathe, big effort
for so much hot air, my
pride beats in my pulse
first for you then for me
I am an empty tank of
despair, so much for
a fair trade, you still
pretend, still hanging
in there

Darling, my turtle
your arms and legs
times four, you're
kind of ****, if not
for the water around
your wrists and ankles
the better to take you
there

I could wade forever

You think love is hot
and painful but mine
is cool and green, you'll
see, here with me or there
with your final and very
memory
Jul 12 · 67
Out of This World
(it's only scars) but
it hurts! from Mars
you see: from far away
The Lord of Indifference
dropped a seed (she's
just a ****)
O but the pain!
and the No and
the No and the No
and you can't get blood
from a stone (lemme
show you my river
of red throbbing
with a tide all
my own, hurdles
at me O COMET
OF PAIN (am I
really and truly
this insane?)
The red licks the
lips of all the red
gone dead tongue
dried to a crisp
all bones and stones
(and yes I really
am) sorry folks
follow the arrow
and pay your dues
egress is thatta way
and no one remembers
the precise way to
doom
Jul 12 · 50
Bamboozled
Was in my heart
(was in my head)
Was in my throat
(I knew no dread)
Was on my lips
(and so I said)
Rolled off my
      tongue
I love you
(dead)

Too late, too late
(his heart turned
      stone)
I wanted him
(go home,
      go home)
In words, in deeds
(I should have
      known)
Goodbye my
      dear
(I'm all alone)
I have no idea what does
or does not grow in those
sorry patches once full
of hope, the ones I checked on
everyday, waiting for the first
bit of green to push its way
out of the earth as if to prove
something about my worthiness
my optimism, even in the face
of all that other decay
I don't believe he ever
took a look, kept his face
pointed the other way
sure of disappointment
but like a kid who can barely
wait for Christmas he waited
for a garden that pops up
all in one day, along with
a woman that transforms
over night, not the one
he went to sleep with
but someone so much
better
I've always had the hope
that in my absence my
gardens flourished,
even went crazy with
green and vines and
fruits and flowers,
so many flowers
and even with the next
one coming behind me
and bashing the crap
out of everything that
sprouted, that's okay
I imagined always the
following year and
and the one after that
in the event she was
still there, the blooms
coming back in spite
of all her efforts to
**** them
and if flowers could talk?
what else could they say
but, Lady, give up-
she will never go
away
Part One
Not me said the Jenny
all spun and hung from
a tree branch, dead
and she tosses her guilt
her blame, her shame
like a wedding bouquet
You mistake me for
something so happy
and fed, Go! Spend
your noon- we'll
give you a spoon
I am the kind of joy
that hangs from every
near dread- the handle
the candle (the candle)
the locked door and
the latch
Miss Jenny,
spoon fed

Part Two
I am a friend to all
animals and they are
a friend to me, we share
our blood, the same
slow trickle, the flood
I am like Saint Francis
hold me, you animal
close to your chest
feel the flood of
blood's cadence
the surge, the drop
to the floor, how
I say love
Jun 25 · 97
You, Pathological
You tell me I am the store clerk
in this company store
I am the one with the yardstick,
a symbol of authority, you say
but one I never used to measure
my own faults or even measure
the thread you used to catch
me in so many knots

You send me away with a few
extra inches, a mind crammed
with outrageous hope, and a
checklist of unanswered questions
dandelion in hand encouraging
the dust, a beat up rusted hope
in the middle of a fallow field

You never thought I'd backtrack
did you? tripping over that pile
of threads, my foot caught in
the center, a prey through
a scope with laughter on
the other end

Again I tell you I need
to know more than I need
to know you
I need to know the glory
of winning a war I once
thought was ridiculous

(And when I look down
and see you have dressed me
in a fool's garb you say not
to worry because looks
can be deceiving
and what the ****
do I know?)

The truth will reveal itself
in a slow and sly burlesque
flowers dropping their petals
**** and unbearable and
when the answer comes
to your lips you will not
know how to say yes
your mouth pressed
into a no and the rest
the rest, the rest
Jun 16 · 350
The Maid
"I am only the maid!"
she will shout at him
then disappear for
a week
hunted down like
lean dog in winter
he always proffered
her a treat
and how could she
refuse? with hatred
she would show up
again to clean his
dishes and make
the bed,
until he got it in
his head, well, he
decided he liked
the maid and not
in the way she was
usually liked
which is to say he
was ***** (no, but
thanks anyway)
a week or two later
he tells her he's in
love and she bursts
out laughing, tells
him she's not 11
years old
but
she did have a lot
of bills, about 800
bucks worth, give
or take
O NO! (you see
it was love and love
is free), three more
weeks and he's
climbing the walls
reconsiders her
circumstances
and his own
another day or two
he has made the maid
on the fresh linens and
all was pretty romantic
until he raised himself
on one elbow and blew
hot air in her face and
a hot load in her ****
he said, "You know
this isn't quid pro quo
..." and she answered
"Veni, vidi, vici...
(whatever gets
you off.")
and what a happy
woman was she
money new minted
in her fat purse
and this little piggy
went wee wee wee
all the way back
to Queens
yup
Sisters, with love
hanging from their
clasped hands
swinging back
and forth like
a jump rope
double dutch
double something
a team, you would
think, but no
Faith is full of
christian love
while Hope
is morally
broke
cashed out
so to speak
but she keeps
her mouth shut
these days
while Faith appeals
to Charity, their
first cousin
a ***** (shouldn't
she have plenty
to spare?)
Faith moves around
from square to square
like a chessboard
piece, missionary
turned mercenary
cashing in on
blank checks
from God
Faith is fat
with Trust
while Hope
wrings her hands
and casts an eye toward
Charity, whatta ****
never there when
you want, that's
love, two sisters
at each other's
throat, charity
torn in half
bashed open like
a piggy bank
where's Trust
when you need him
most? (looking up
the skirt of Hope
while pinching
the *** of Faith
taking the last shards
of Charity, you
betcha) see you
next Sunday
see?
Jun 14 · 66
I Want
I want to dress up
like Kim K. and ****
your **** I want
to be culturally
relevant I want
to run into Prada
and **** every
mannequin
and leave a blood
soaked floor
and what's more
I want to blame it
all on you calling
me a *****
I am the human toll
of all your deficits
I am a felony waiting
to unfold I am your
worst nightmare
wrapped in a nightgown
I am ten thousand
years old dropped
to the floor I am pure
gold
I am your trigger finger
your ten times a ******
your bomb waiting
to explode
Blame me on food
coloring and live wires
blank checks and all
the cans of food dated
expired because I have
no shelf life dear and
you waited way too
long to put it in here
so tired and so old
ouch
Jun 7 · 55
Ode to a Mail Carrier
I bang my head
against the floor
harder! harder!
and one time
more
Alas, but I hear
someone banging
back?
A man in blue shorts
and a leather
sack?
He says to me
I hate to tell you
but you're banging
your head on the door
and not the floor
ma'am
Jun 7 · 204
My Hand
Ah but what sort of tricks
do I have up my sleeve
when I practice to myself
deceive?
My midnight lover
with his wandering
eye has wandered too
far and wide to slyly
coax back to my side
(Ah, my dear
it's dark in
here)
yet my own and
faithful hand finds
all of the familiar
valleys and peaks-
the fingers minus
the wedding band
a well and practiced
sweep-
like a breeze
over my thighs
The art of tickling
the tickler, feels
like a tree
dropping
each and
every leaf
all at one time
I fall, I fell
again and
well met by
moonlight
let's call it
a night?)

It's a wonderful thing
to find out, clearly
I still love myself
whether or not
it's true of him
(and one more
round, shall we?
only because we
can)

Goodnight dear
and
then

(Ah, hell, just one
more...)
Jun 4 · 79
Promise
There lie your dreams
you on your back and
your eyes fixed on
the screen
the ceiling
the nighttime
screams
(convince yourself
in those squalid moments
this this THIS is what
you want THIS is
romance THIS is
the man of your
dreams
While you lie pinned
by the center of your
soul, arms and legs
spinning around
like a clock with
too many
springs
this is the hour
of your regrets
your squandered
bit of everything
and nothing is quite
what you thought
it would be, like you
love him and of course
the screams
May 29 · 149
What Now?
I say hanging from the hinge
of homelessness is the worst
sort of terror- try it (you
dipped your toes in once)
You say well everyone
has a door to open, to close
to keep the world at bay
(how quaint) I say
you have never been
without keys or a bed
or any old piece of floor
to rest your head
hmmph, well,
there was that time
you slept in a fountain
and all of Italy was yours
a plate to eat and yeah
you woke up wet and
sopping but you didn't
notice the rainbow
at your feet (did
you?) and
mother could always
find you and you could
always find her- at the end
of a Western Union while
your belly grumbled
for more screamed
for that sense of
entitlement YOU
REMIND ME OF A
BABY whining for
a new and clean place
to ****, white and full
of plenty but for
the one time you
rubbed shoulders
with reality, when
you ended up in a
decaying heap
you spent your short
life learning to skip
to throw a blind eye
to close your ears and
your nose when mother's
grasp let go for that one
terrifying moment
what did it feel like,
that slip into the gutter
of humanity's woes?
smells a lot like ****
(don't it?)
We all make a lot of noise
hoping someone will hear us
even the most demure has
her own din, voice thrown
into the mouth of a cave
as she pushes the lid
down tight from within
Her unremarkable voice
still leaks as easy as
breathing, as brittle
as tin
Or
like me:
banging around a cage
a self-made cell not so
much iron but a filigreed
and diaphanous hell
In
the present:
I drag these clenched jaws
behind me, like a ticker tape
stuck to my ankles and toes
like wedding cans and bells
stuck in the throes of a big
hot noise of celebration
melted into concrete and
bouncing down empty halls
of frozen woes, tired toes
and somewhere my feet
keep the clutched rhythm
of me
if
and only if:
sunk below the sill
at the crack of dusk
what remains in a husk
and I wave from my paned
pain, silent on the outside
but what a racket from
within
p.s:
dear sir you did nothing
but throw me out having
once taken me in
May 25 · 54
All the Red in China
I want to paint all of the furniture
Chinese red and lacquer the
living crap out of it
until my face
is reflected
in every
corner
drawer
and even
the bed
I will leave my face on every surface
so that even with his flights of
of knee **** denial, he will
learn the exact nature
of liver colored
shredded
torn
then
reborn
dread
I want to add another stanza
the kind that smacks a person
in the head, the back and flat
and dinosaur part where
his most stupid thoughts
are formed along with
his grunts and
pointed
opposable
thumb
dumb
that
is
But why bother when I can
simply move on
instead?
May 24 · 90
Cave Paintings
THIS is the epitome
this is the empty me
I revisit the cavern
to see the small
scrapings, pigments
pulled from my flesh
the child version of all
that was eating me
wheat colored stone
the chaff and the grain
rock against rock
the color of pain
the greedy green
chlorophyll, the part
and smart of my brain
YOU there and I point
a finger like a paintbrush
of despair, yellowed by
the sun and turned to
soup by the falling rain
WHAT sort of thing
could lift me out of this
forever wanting?
a red leveled plow
of your heart digs
at my veins
He is forever
mister dead set
blues for my
pain
May 18 · 59
Yup
Yup
You, there
me, here (fair
and square) fists
empty arms full
of air, thief! rich
with my despair
from my gut
(strings, strings!
a violin, a tennis
racket, sinew
strung from one
pile of...)
gloating, surely
belly full another
wind filled ****
another plus on
the minus side
of me, robbed
mostly of you
(who cares?)
I thought
mostly of you
the great con
job and how
does your garden
grow, kicked like
that? (o what
a pair you
make
May 13 · 72
I Need
I need I need I need (let
me repeat I NEED)
your **** between
my thighs I need
to feel your hot and
heavy breath between
my sighs I need
your fingers in my
*** and in my
****** baby like
a bowling ball
I will roll quite
heavy slam me
right into the
wall
I need you I need all
every bit and even
the hell of you
even your empty
voicemail piece
an automated I DON'T
GIVE A **** I need
I need your *******
face
****
May 13 · 60
The Poetry of Sex
each letter rolled
'round my
tongue, wet
with let's
say ess and
ess indeed
('tween you
and me)
shy one
letter, YES
eeeeGADS
whoop-eeee
(d)eee
easy like
me
say pretty
pleeeese
ex
lover
ex
con
ex
marks
the
spot
yes please
***
(***!)
May 12 · 71
Mourning the Living
I can't I can't I simply
cannot live with this
emptiness (and why
didn't anyone tell me
how empty it would
be?) hell, I didn't expect
a box of chocolates (melted
stuck to the mailbox) or
even a limp dozen roses
or a farewell cordially
written by the hand
that knows well how to
cordially say goodbye
but I did expect something
and never mind why-
I expected maybe for
the sky to change color
or for each and every leaf
on each and every tree
to turn around in mourning
in deference to some wild
thing that not even nature
can explain, me and my
heart torn away like bark,
undressed of love and left
with only my nakedness
I thought I would feel it
in the air, come sweeping
down and defining each
of my breaths, each one
a death to me when really
I deserve no less than
a two mile snake of black
that runs through every red
light and leaves nothing
but road rage in it's wake
(hear me snicker between
the walls, ceiling, and floor
of my new and fabulous tree)
There is no special ceremony
no cake to cut, no carrying
this great loss over a threshold
like a bride, like a widow
all in one day, this death
like so many others that
folks just want to turn their
heads away, this death
like so many others, an
embarrassing display
Apr 26 · 69
Home
What I wanted
For a home,
This artifice
Bone for
Bone
Thankful
When the creak
Of winter breaks
It's hold and
Thin green
Stems
Hide the broken
Parts
Home
Apr 17 · 58
Nobody Cares
tis your fate
lick it off a plate
proffered to you
under the table
and between
your knees
(love comes in at
at the eye and
quickly
heads south
you see)
you there, you
with the mouth
pretty please
open wide
and guide a fella
straight inside
(love saves the
day, not yours but
someone's)
anyway
The truth hangs inside
of a cedar closet that
      hasn't been opened
in forever
It's knotted and tangled
just like her, at least
      we hope she might
Recognize some of the
dresses, dressed up
just like she
      has always
      been
(a ***** in the making
living in sin)
a march of decades
minus the wedding
rice and the fair and
      going price of a
groom

Poor sullied should have
been bride if not for the
      timing, the misaligned
stars,
a fate not of her making
yet who but she carried the
scars?

June is a month she would
like to sleep through, a long
funeral

as each of her sisters met her
match, down the aisle, disposed
    of, as well they should have  
been but
      this one refused to disappear
this one is
all too present
and what to do
      with this one
here?

(They have already inscribed
her gravestone, she, without
the good manners to make good
on the date) t'is her wedding
      day and finally here

darling don't be late)
having read so many novels set in the Victorian era, it's striking to note how thoroughly ******* a woman was in the event of not finding a husband... not to mention the stigma attached to being "independent" in thought and deed. the only way a woman could possibly get by on her own was to be wealthy and even then security is not assured- so often family wealth skipped by any daughters ans went straight to the male progeny. if a woman failed to secure a "good marriage" it's anyone's guess how cruel her fate might be...
Apr 17 · 63
Clueless, You
You
who anchors yourself
to my side like a bayonet
a harpoon
You
without a
*******
clue
don't waste your time
trying to sponge up
such grime
You
will never rise to
such dizzy heights
of my kind of dirt
You
can wish it
You
can imagine it
what it's like to fertilize
the same flower
I do
You can dream
and who am I to
stop you?

In your fairytale of hurt
I am meant to be the first
casualty

That's how each garden
on earth will surprise you

(and) Me

Me!

Gone of all want
and catastrophe!
laying the drama at your
feet is the best I can do
for we

You
are a made for TV drama
scarce and scared dear
Me and me (and
me)

Our garden
Apr 15 · 46
Meanwhile
You are a wolf in
the house of doom
I even moved aside,
packed everything of
mine into one room
I gave you the lay
of the land, let you
roam through each
broken window
broken promise
with blood hanging
in threads, yours
now, not mine
while you crawled
close to the floor
up and down the
stairs, red trail
the sentry of
my heart
on all fours as
you tore each
chamber apart
love in one corner
love in the next
four times love
darling wolf
of my pulse
whole and
part
Apr 15 · 52
Hunger
Ah but I am so
****** hungry
Dontcha know
Licked lips
Drop of drool
I swell with the
Smell of toast
Butter swirled
With honey
(Honey)
Slake my hunger
For you
Not so much
But it will have
   to do
Apr 13 · 41
My Darling, My Dear
My darling,
my dear,
fancy (prance
yourself over
here)
My darling,
my dear
another
soppy evening
bit in two
(if only, if only)
you knew
Cold as a gem
on a dead finger
you (if only
you)
You
my darling
my dear
(****)
you, if only
you would
do
(Anything
would do
no longer
haunted by
expectations
I give them
solidly to
you
minus the plus
side, one hell
of a ride
(****)
that too
Apr 13 · 31
A Day With You
The only thing missing
is a sore **** feeling,
a vague sense of
unwholesomeness,
and an unusually
urgent desire to
be alone

I prefer the honesty
of a good alley mugging
rather than these missing
moments stretched into
long hours of doubt

Never mind the endless
work of you figuring me
figuring you out

Was me, was you,
was too dark to tell?

Loves me, hates me
and which one of us
in this given month
is clearly going to
hell?

The men who have been
so big on honesty, well
they sure did lie a lot
and the sorting out of truth
from lies and the constant
refrain of I Forgot?

Frankly all of that
has left me cold and
the obtuse angle of your
constant accusations?
that too got awfully old

As I am dear- awful
and old
Apr 13 · 103
You, O Invisible You
you are what the woods
look like on a starless
night and through a beam
of lantern light, swinging
first left then right from
my arms, gripped fingers
and the lightening bugs
you look quite simply
lovely in that quick
flood of flight
you look just right
like a breath between
bites, the sweep of
that lamp, remember?
and if light could sing
if darkness could make
a harmony of those
absent stars and so
many other lost
things? we could
make a forest sing
me and you simple
like that, beautiful
fact
He gave me a lovely shell
shiny with abalone which
I promptly likened to a
shovel
He gave me a stunning
silk cape which I turned into
a winding cloth
When he presented me
with a brilliant green box
carved from the rarest jade
I thanked him for the
fancy sarcophagus

He showered me with love
so unrelenting it poured
down more sodden then
his tears
And his hundred adoring
glances?
I told him they were like
like the worms that will
one day live in my
bones

Today he brought me
a massive bunch of plump
white roses and from behind
them I heard him say, well
I guess these can be your
funeral wreath-
I sighed and waved him
away

Really, darling, must you
always be so *******
morbid?
Apr 11 · 51
The Gift
What is left
of me here,
well, I saved it
for you my dear
in the tiny bowl
of my hands,
loose so as not
to **** it, with
fingers caged
close enough
to not spill it;
I feel the wings
beat frantically
against my palms
what sorry words
can I tell my heart
when all words
have gone?
Apr 9 · 129
The Facts
The Facts, brought to you
by Miss (never Misses)
Battle Ax
She has taken copious
notes (and even looked up
the word 'copious')
just in case
and in this case, well
The Facts are quite simply
The Facts (follow the blood
smear, the footfall patterns
the mincing and dear
little tracks, follow her
to her corner, the one
she's worn a dent in
the one that wears
a penumbra of her
and all of her
misgivings like
a well fitted hat
The Truth) dear
kind of a little less
of that here, wanders
around kind of a
little more of a
sneer (hurts, is
LOUD) a bit of
a SMACK
and
She cannot follow
the rhythm of your
wanting because she
wants it more (than
you) would learn
to dance (for you)
would eat her own
hands for you and
follow her pointed
fingers through
every hour of
every beat of
every breath
of every (once
was yours dear)
Fact
Apr 9 · 62
Like Wow, Like
He was all like and
I was all like
y'know
what I meeeeeen,
like?!
and then I was
like noooooo
waaaaaay! and
then he was like
wuhwuhwuh
why not?
like? and
like, oooh my
GAAAD,
like ****!
y'know what I mean
like **** THAT!
EEEEEEW! like
no way! no?
maybe what!?
like, jealous
much? like
WHAT is her
damage!? O
MY
GOD
I hate her, like
totally like!
WHAT a
*****!
y'know?
like did you see
what she was wearing
like?
I like baked fish
I like a fish in a dish
I like Lillian Gish
I like to dress up
in a gigantic wide
brimmed hat and
go to the movies

I like smooth stones
I like sun bleached bones
I like raspberry scones
I like to hide behind
the bookshelf and
scream when you
walk by

I like sleeping dogs
I like foggy fogs
I like Prague
I like to sob into
a pillow and never
wake up again
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