I like it not.
Some actors' stumbling lines
Or patient yawns
Leave Shakespeare's thoughts delivered
Barely breathing or still-born
While others' jousting runs the play
Unchecked, unfettered, and yet un-free.

Mercutio's fitful rantings smoulder some,
Then, tired, lose their place,
Extinguished fire that nearly casts
A plague on any houses
Before a lingering death brings
Sweet relief to all the house.

Old Capulet, more bored than angry,
Tirades only tiredly at his daughter,
The last in a line of several disappointments.
We wait his piece to end,
Endure the hanging and begging and starving
In the streets, while Juliet entreats...
Gosh, I could use a bit to eat.....

O God in Heaven!
Give us up a little leaven
From this acting now so leaden.

Sadly, young Mercutio's dead,
And soon, Paris, and young Romeo,
Followed by young Juliet, and then Old Capulet....
The priest's alive, so we can fret
What further mischief he may still beget.

White noise is falling
from the treetops again.
I'm looking for a new apartment,
touring the giants
up and down 16th Street,
wondering if I'll cry here too
across the ancient parquet,
& who I'll bring home
to share coffee and deep jags
of insufficiency, feelings
I should not have shared.

Everything is eventually
unspoken, everything is.
Keep the heart off the sleeve
for a change. Hideaway
in the dull bronze candle
of winter city sunset,
gently tarnished with old snow.
Pause on the high Taft bridge,
despite the height,
and drop the heart away.

It's a lie,
I couldn't do it.
The heart sticks
in the hand.

I am an artist,
I paint stories with red ink,
Can I show you a picture,
Can you tell me what you think?

I am an artist,
I paint stories with sharp edges,
I carve into unique places
Some pretty little etches

I am an artist,
I paint stories with death,
She frequently visits me
And takes away my breath

I am an artist,
I paint stories with my skin,
I use a sharp edge,
And a blood red ink

I will not be afraid,
in dark alleys
or empty parking lots.
I will not be afraid,
when the predatory glances
grow furtive
and purposeful.
I'm not a girl,
I'm a woman,
and I don't smile,
I glow.
Everything about me,
from the shine of my hair,
to the dirt on the bottom of my heels
is regal from the moment it touches me.
Because I'm a queen,
and I was born to reign.
The alleys are my red carpet,
theatre seats are my throne.
Nothing that I set eyes on is allowed to alarm me.
Inside of me,
I carry a miracle,
an ability beyond the comprehension
of the opposite ***,
and outside of me,
I am disguised as a mere mortal.
I'm capable of going to battle
with the wildness and ferocity of a pride of lions,
and returning home to grace my loved ones with a softness that is so tender
so unconditional,
that it could **** with it's heart-aching gentleness.
I'm capable of whatever I wish,
creating life,
or taking it.
I'm capable of building civilizations
and destroying them.
I am a queen.
Whether I am a queen in a smart suit and stilettos,
or a queen in sneakers and sweats,
I'm a queen.
So fear me,
love me,
and be warned-
I refuse to bow to the evil that has been committed against my kind before.
I refuse to bow to the terror.
I refuse to bow at all.
I'm a queen.
I'm a **** queen.

Sometimes my heart yearns for wonder
It goes to the forbidden land yonder
Looking for a false sense of adventure
I hope to lose myself
Instead of finding myself
In more mysterious ways