The way you smile
at me, almost six feet
above the floor, you
there, plus six inches
more (how clever
walking on your
hind legs and
all)

And I do, I do
I like to look up
at you

And when gravity
overtakes me?

Well you do, you do
you like to look down
at me

At your service dear
just feed and water me
trusty houseplant, a vine
of a thing

And you my trusty
tree of a man
feet like roots
I like to stand on
when we dance

(We have never
danced)

So often it is shortly after
the worst of them drops
dead and then like magic
the insufferable ****
becomes the man
above all men

Already cast in bronze
he is, before even one
blade of grass can grow
directly above his
sainted head

Of course when he
was quite alive she
could not wish him
more than dead
and all of the misery
he brought?
She turned into a
eulogy instead

The only solace left
to offer this deadly
boring woman?
with any bit of luck
she will soon be
joining him

I live in a palace
of broken glass
ten times, one
hundred times
I land
I land on
my broken ***
O Daddy
o daddy
why did you
******* me
like this
ten times
one thousand
times, a broken
dish, reflected
you me YOU ME
ah f
and so
each time you
did this to me
I became the child
you abandoned
again and
again
I've grown to
despise holidays
because the include
you and all of your
solid assurance that
I'll keep your secret
Daddy I cannot bear
to be anywhere
near you
you wreck me
you break me
into these fing
prisms
and so the only way
to lose you is to lose
all of the pieces of
me
F* YOU
DAD!

(Merry Christmas
so...)

Once again I stammer
at the words left by
others
I, I, I... can't believe
stepping through
the garden of words
squandered,
slim pickings for
this bird
Nevertheless
do not mistake
my choices, the words
that feather my nest
to be second rate
even as one after
the other is plucked
from the line-up
(they can take
the best of them
and I'll make
something worthy
of the rest)
Call it a public service
Call me a first responder
Never have words
been under such
a threat
The most pithy,
the most hackneyed
march of one word
horribly placed after
another (free will
meets a firing squad
where each gun hasn't
the stomach and even
Hallmark dodges
a hit, where remorse
is lost among the
letters

The patron saint of forgetting
has been seduced out of
     the rosebush
where she lives, the thorns
     will slough away eventually
along with the rest
     of her
                   skin

she leaves rosebuds and petals
behind, but not like Hansel
     or Gretel
she does not want to be
     found
and she will not heed
the prayers from the rest
     of you, shamelessly
searching for an excuse
     of having forgotten
          too
Saint Adolf, not such a bad guy
they say he cries watching sad
    movies just like
                               you
barely seventy-five years
devil may care
because you don't, not
     you or you
          or even
               you
we do know the price
forgetting, of course all
     of us do
so hide behind your next plague
your next atrocity, yours
     or will you forget
          that
too?

I want nothing more
of your sweet dumb
eyed camel looking
score, as if love can
come in at the eyes
rather than pulled
between my thighs

Well then! which course
is the worst for the wear
and tear?
to **** yourself beyond
some skinny little freak
of a girl's stare?

Dear sir I hope my
brown eyes followed
you every *******
where, I hope
they followed you
into each of your
legitimate beds,
one after the
other, Mr. Man
full of himself and
all that wasn't
said

Dear sir I hope I stuck
to you like a flea, drawing
blood from you as you
did from me

There are many things
well worth doing and  
even some that might
preserve my soul-
the hot pursuit of
the good and eternal
seems a reasonable
goal
But the moment I ought
or should or must do this
or that or some other
virtuous thing
all of my best intentions
simply leave me bitter cold
and send me headlong
into flames eternal

I spent half my life
as a homeless agoraphobe
think about that
I have been predisposed
to fling myself at anyone
or anything that has even
a hint of promise of a home
Home. Searching far and wide
What on earth is it anyway?
as a child I would spend
half the day starving
and the other half gagging
down what I was told
was a meal
I didn't know broccoli is
green until I had some in
prison. Home.
Transitory.
Devilish.
The Easter bunny visits
homes but in our case
sorry kids, he broke his
leg this year and that's
when I found out every
adult was a liar. Including
the Easter bunny, in his
disheveled fur stinking
of gin with two perfectly
good legs.
And those were the good
years

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

Win lose or draw saddle
swiped ripped out quite
between your knees
Your little ride (grab
me by the reigns my
two long braids rip) o
rip me sideways tear
me away from your
livid schemes
You, ****** (me,
******) o you death
squad you breath
of death nod torn
between yourself
and the rest of
your nothing
******* die
(Then Me)
there bleed out
on the floor there
that stretches
between you
and me and O
BUT WHAT a
naked valley! so
much dead and
amber waves
of withered grain
YOU ARE THE DUMB
AMERICAN of all my
heart and dreams
(your statue of
liberty a constant
reign on your watery
parade) ah ****
OFF DEAR thank
you right between
the ears the big ol'
shafted bamboozled
part of your brain
hoodwinked dear
(let's go ****
another pony
shall we?) a love
a hate poem for you
and so much less
thanks again dear I
never expected this
fat with your own
expectation pregnant
with your ***** and
your swastikas
BOO!

Miss Anne I take in gips
and gasps (and what
is a gip I shall never
tell but it purrs
like a heart gone
all to hell
One decade gone
another renewed
shall I take another
pass by you?
Miss Anne you
make my hands
as large as the
moon but less
in charge as clumsy
as a puppy born
in June with a
mouth full of
flowers let loose
by a grin
forever goofy
thank to you
I win
(!)

This dead thing
is really not my
thing, never fully
appreciating how
empty it would
be
This dead thing
all around and
inside of
me
(for example)
Who knew dust has
teeth and it gnaws
even at my pale thin
voice still banging
around the empty
rooms of
me?
I thought this dead
thing would simply
surround me, would
take my last breath
like a flower and
I would sink into
the dirt and no,
of course not,
why would it
hurt?
This dead thing
who knew how
capricious
it would be?
I bet you thought
it would at least be
reverent, like a man
holding his hat
a grey fedora
over his heart
as if to say not mine
no not this time but
I will look down
I will study the
ground, this dead
thing, passing
before
me

I know there's something
wrong with me- who
doesn't know by now?
but I wonder still
how could he tell
(how could he tell
at all? I covered the
holes quite properly
when I'd blown myself
all to hell)
and the missing part
that came unglued
when I came unglued
as well?
it grew and grew
this part he knew
until it was no part
of me at all

You make the meat
of me, the ground bits
of flesh like so much
confetti-
Congratulations! dear
and all of that crap
mind the spatter!
make haste! as
the wheel spins
past the bladder
(This party *****!)

To cry like this
unending nights
with one tiny light,
one tiny squeak of day
under the mud
it is always this
way
Daylight warms
the top of my skull
as I trace the course
of the sun from one side
of my pond of tears
to the other
Over so quickly
over and done
and in that short glimpse
of daylight, my tears still
run
Deluge, dear
feel my clammy heart
there is no end when
these kind of tears
start

In breath
(Out breath)
And again
And again
12,000 more times
until sweet sleep
Overtakes you
Death is stupid
Life is somewhat
smarter (or so
it is presumed)
Think about it-
what a chicken
missing its head
might be thinking
NOT MUCH

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

Asked my daddy when I was thirteen
"Daddy, can you tell me what love really means?"
His eyes went glassy, not a word was said
He poured another beer and his face turned red

Asked my mother, she acted the same
She never looked up, she seemed so ashamed
Asked my teacher, he reached for the cane
He said don't mention that subject again

My big brother told me when I was fourteen
It's time I showed you what love really means
Girls like kissing and romance too
But a boy's got to know what a man's got to do

He gave me a book, the cover was plain
Written by a doctor with a German name
It had glossy pictures, serious stuff
I read it seven times, then I knew it well enough

I read it in a magazine
(Read about love)
Cosmo and Seventeen
(Read about love)
in the back of a Hustler, Hustler, Hustler

So now I know what makes girls sigh
And now I know why girls cry
So don't tell me I don't understand
What makes a woman and what makes a man
I've never been to heaven
But at least I've read about love

And now I've got you
(Read about love)
Where I want you
(Read about love)
I got you on my test bed, test bed, test bed

So why don't you moan and sigh?
And why do you sit there and cry?
I do everything I'm supposed to do
If something's wrong then it's must be you

Well, well, well
When I touch you there it's supposed to feel nice
That's what they said in the reader's advice
I've never been to heaven
But at least I've read about love

I.
They say mouthfuls
don't they? and if not
for such a collective
and vague pronoun
to funnel our singular
and specific idiocy
into, well! we could
hardly expect to live
with ourselves, now
could we?
II.
They say chivalry
is dead and just in case
the carrier of such trite
blasts from the mouth
is infectious we shall
****** him too
III.
They say it's the thought
that counts and I say how
dare you
IV.
They say now don't
quote me on this and
so I won't

Your whole family stinks
Shopping for your dog is
so stressful you need therapy
Bears revel in their own clean
underpants but won't touch
the underpants of another
If you hug your dishwasher
and apologize for blaming it
for your lousy shopping choices
it's okay cuz there's a product
for that
If you feel like a worthless failure
due to the constant ads on TV
featuring successful people
giving cars away as gifts
it's okay cuz there's a gun
for that
If you wonder why you haven't yet
found yourself standing in a huge
empty room except for some Chevys
that pop out of nowhere and scare
the crap out of you remember:
Bears don't wear underpants
and their ***** are so clean
they Enjoy The Go and maybe
you should- GO, JUST GO

Each time my eyes blink
its like a toddler banging
out a tune on a toy piano
And my eyebrows respond
with the black notes as if
to say hmmm or watch
yourself dear
Moving down to the nose
Well! What a cacophony
there! Every horn and
each in turn until
John Phillips Sousa
dies once again
You'd think the mouth
would be like the first
violin- nope that was
shut up long ago,
the screaming
stays
within

Give me what I want
and you will never hear
another peep
Give me the dagger
practiced blood
drawn from me
to you
Give me something
silent, creeping
and quiet, like
your love
never voiced
when you said
I knew what
you meant
but didn't

By the time you swear you're his,
    Shivering and sighing,
And he vows his passion is
    Infinite, undying-
Lady, make a note of this:
    One of you is lying.

O FRUITLESS YAM!
(a soft woman's voice)
"potatoes are usually
grown from other
potatoes..."
YOU, CANNY, in
a jam "...while several
recessed dormant
buds..."
ALL MOUTH AND
NO PLAY
"or eyes on the
surface..."
BORN OF BOREDOM
INVERTED EYES
"on the surface..."
OF HIS DECAY"
"perennials that grow
close to the ground..."
THE ONE THAT CRaWLS
NEVER STRETCHED TO
HER FULL AND FOOLISH
POTENTIAL HEIGHT
"it's called a tuber..."
MAKE THE SHAPE
WITH YOUR UGLY
MOUTH AND NO
END OF ROTTEN
WORDS
"from the end of underground..."
LACKING ENOUGH MIND
TO STAND ON TWO LEGS
"we call these vines..."
THESE ARE THE SPROUTS
WE CALL EYES
"these are the sprouts
we call eyes..."
WHY O WHY DID
YOUR POTATO DIE?
"verticillium wilt..." WILT
SHALL, DID, AND DILT
"these fungi can survive
in the soil..." OF COURSE
SHE OF THE WILTED
EYE, THE FACE AND
THE MOUTH FULL
OF DIRT "but will
eventually die..."
HERE'S TO YOU, THAT
SHALLOW GARDEN, THAT
DEEP MEASURED HURT
AS SOON AS SHE BREAKS
THE SURFACE "wilted
plants will eventually die..."
HERE'S TO YOU, NEXT
SUMMER, NEXT RAY
OF SUN, HERE'S MUD
IN YOUR EYE

Aaah but how laaazy
we are you reaching
for the remote (and I ain't
lifting my *** for
nothing, even my
sense of humor
lies limp) the
weather channel
the same channel
as your arm slides
back and forth
across my belly
my **** and then
you rest your
lips, napping
one muscle
at a time

We love the local weather
dude cuz he looks like
he sleeps in his suit
sways back and forth
his whole body
a five o'clock shadow
covering the whole
east coast and we revel
in the comfort of knowing
that weather still exists
at all (just in case we
choose to stick our
heads in it)

How many love affairs
start like this, the novelty
and the simple inability
to find all those faults
you will hate each other
for later?

How many lovers had me
convinced my despair is just
a wrapping I can push away
and replace with their charm
their assurances and their
delightful plot twists?
(how's the weather up
there?)

There is a certain amount
of folly and even stupidity
to believe I can dig a hole
out of terror and despair
and put yet another lover
smack in the middle of me
yes, THERE (I have made
my simple mind up- you,
darling, are not going
anywhere)

This, you me and that
bit over in the corner? I
believe love is hiding under
the hands of a clock, under
your hands too (fill me
another drink, fill me
with your ****)

Sated, she is
proud, he is
up to the task
not quite love but
this thing here?
this thing was built
to last

See through that
big ol' hole
see through that
pickle jar
see through me
see through all
of my indented
scars
(She threw it all
away
she threw it
OUT the
window
she threw a
******* FIT
she did, she got rid
of all of IT)

But...

Mercy came back
to tease at her toes
Mercy came back
and she froze and
she froze waiting
for the Finality
of Forgiveness, that
kind of mercy, where
Humility grows and
it grows (from the
bottom up, just
like a rose) and
never from the top
down like a convertible
full of smiling people
never one of those)

The joy of the
freedom from
all thought, as
smiling and blank
faced as a stick
of gum

Us low hanging
ones worry (constantly)
about losing are heads
on a low bridge or
in a low mood

Mercy is not wasted
on the fleeting love
lorn love torn
ridiculous

Like you dear
like me here
Mercy, well
done

(Dead from the
neck down rather
than from the
neck
up)

My dear
My Lord
My haunt
My word
(eaten, like
a sword, skewered
down to the last
letter)
My prisoner fights
against my belly and
I keep talking loud
enough to cover
his screams
(HA! this is what
happens when you
give me your word
I take a promise
seriously or at
the very least I
take it, mine now,
not yours)
My sweet
My meat
My clawed
afterthought
Burp

Do you remember that day
in the garden I made for you
in the height of my delusions?
We were digging a hole for
our favorite cat and as our
snot and tears mixed with
the dirt I quietly suggested
you should mound the soil
to allow for the inevitable
sinking of the bones and flesh
you looked up at me with
pure malice and said through
gritted teeth, "Do you think
I've never dug a grave before?"
Instead of being freaked out
I did what any faithful wife
would do and with reverence
dear, always with reverence
I spray painted the *******
off Buddha's forehead to
place it on the grave and
you laughed and laughed
and gave me a hug, told me
"This is what I keep you
around for, see?"

You, who would have me believe
your greatest charity was to fool me
and that somehow feeding me bits from
the brunt and depth of your deception
was a kindness I should have appreciated
at least while you were doling it out like
a rich dowager to a gaggle of stinking
humanity from your mountain of pity
I am sorry that I failed you
You, who put such a premium
on honesty, and, indeed,
tossed me away having caught me
in your sort of lie, the sort that only
the most honest can understand
Again, I'm sorry I failed you
and, well, to be perfectly honest
(once and finally) when you told
this to me I thought you weren't
lying
You, who have taught me that
the biggest truth is so confounding
only the best of us can use it and
for me to try was pure folly
having no practice in twisting things
first arms, then wills, then my
pure and simple truth
I am sorry I failed you
You, who are safe on your mountain
where no one dare pull a brick
or a stone or even a single blade
of grass out from under you
I defer to you dear,
my one and greatest lie

The recipe required tears
and so she squinted and
she squunched, forcing
whatever salt she could
gather between her ears

NOTHING

If love is anything like
this death, well

No thank you
dear

A box of tears

Searching the grocery store
shelves,
We got nothing

Aside from that?

Well, being all too familiar
with the whole *******
thing

Thank you
Dear

Not for want of rain, no
not why I give you my pain
expecting this immolation
to gain a self- in other words
mine and not yours
I wouldn't even want that,
the declarative words chanted
as my funeral pyre is pushed
into the current of any river
but especially the river of life
no, not me, I am not that
antique wife
Dear sir, if you are blessed
with luck and if time is your
friend, when seconds count
and especially at the end
no one will hear my charges
against you or wonder
at my pointed burning finger
as fire is overcome by water
and all is right again

It is not a fact that beauty
lies in perfection or even
in perfect proportion-
sure, we find it pleasing
when both the eyes
line up and when
one leg follows the
other more or less
in the same stride
teeth are good when
they grow where they
should and number
in the thirties, most
can agree on this
and also that hair is nice-
some prefer a blonde
while others insist on the
virtues of a brunette
(none of us have ever
mooned or crooned
over the virtues of
a bald coquette)

I don't have a good heart
I do not mean well and
if I were just a tad more
despicable I'd tell you
to burn in hell
Your doting smile does nothing
but make me wish I had steel toes
and if I were a little bit more bitter
I'd kick you right in the nose
The sound of your dragging
your knees from place to place
like fingers down a chalk board
and I can only imagine your
lovesick face
If I were completely heartless
and your feelings didn't matter
a jot, I'd have your drag yourself
to a graveyard and I'd point out
exactly where you should rot
(Ah, but you think I'm joking?
and this is just a ruse?
how could I be this awful
and this must be one of
my moods)
I will not be better, not later
and certainly not soon
your love leaves me frozen
your protestations a tired tune
I beg to no one special
I make my case to the empty air
if there is a god in this place
then please, I beg, I swear
I will never again in life
beguile any living man
nor none of the uncountable
dead- I make my peace
and good riddance sweets
I've put my heart to
bed

Hope is eternal, well
I guess it would have to be
and so in the face of Nothing
Else it always flashes a
**** smile (says, "Put  on
your shoes! Let's go!")
Hope dressed up in
your very own cast off
clothes and you go
with him (of course
you do! because Hope
looks so familiar, almost
like you!)
Hope, my darling,
is in love with you
and only you and
only you can see it
in his eyes (forget
about all of that noise,
the banging around
of Regret inside)
Hope is a carpenter
knocking on wood
eyes and fists clenched
shut COUNT TO TEN
you knew you just knew
you would and when
faith gives way to
superstition you know
it must IT MUST be
good and everything else
should be just as it
should
Hope is eternal and
you've got it by the wings
your army of termites
your minions pining
and pinning all hope
on such fleeting
stings (knocking wood
from the inside out, of
all crazy things)
Hope, y'all, you've got it
in the bag, hope is just
yonder down the road
a piece
Hope, y'all, you carry it
like a bundle in the end
of a stick, hobo of your
heart and other abandoned
things
Hope is more like a stone
or a can you kick in front
of you, in front of you
all the way home (or
maybe past it, you
don't know these
things)

You're so and I'm
no, I'm not
you're so-and-
so (*******
though)

Your knot, your
****, not mine-
O no no no!
You forgot
(what time is it?
where's the plot?
not me! no never!
not!)

Rot's the same
always yours but
I'm to blame
when you ******
that big ****,
that big hunk,
that big stain,
call it water
call it rain
raining down
the same ol' twisted
I forgot

(Yours hold it
open, stretch it
wide hide that
ugly glory holed
up inside; spent
like keys like
coins like tease
coin slot KER
PLUNK buried
up to your sleeves
twisted rot, where's
my change? you
little snot)