oh, but one  innocent young lass
quoted here , in her longing cries
her plaintive sighs, must be at last
remembered if but for her eyes
her form of function, her knowing glance,
her  heart beating hell from betwixt her thighs,
a breast awaiting the lad
in firm anticipation, her lips moistened
with desires, the night
counts every beat, of heart and breast
and in between, her song
is sung in wishful prayers
and pacing loathing,
every second
she stands waiting
counting
heartbeats

I traded sold exposed  my soul , bartered
called every one else mad, as I martyred
myself forgiving, but held back that one thread
of control, danced wild at the end of it,
a marionette on a tight wire
dangling on end
supposing, dreamily
one day climbing back up
into control

were a message, a breeze, a memory a leaf
to be shed in fall every year,
or a new ring to be grown , inside
a tale of rainfall, or droughts
if I were cut open
a tale of shining suns
dry seasons stunting
might expose the sap of yesterday
the history
of a tall proud tree
who made
oxygen from
CO2 and sunlight and
dreamed
of growing far
larger
stronger
with more seeds
more limbs
more leaves

i like angry poetry
the kind that churns
in your gut,
with razors for teeth
and gums bleeding.
i like the violent sound
of verbs clashing
on a decaying page,
like the shot of a gun
on a quiet day.
i like the poetry that stays,
that lies in waiting
like a dog in a cage,
words that creep like
voided birds into the
wired tress of my brain,
that pay their rent
like drunken travelers
and trash the place.
i like angry poetry
the kind that sears it's
screams to my lips,
which spirit echoes and
moans for eager,
****** eyes.
words that hit like *****,
giving their reader
a killer hangover.
i like angry poetry,
the kind that leave you
with a smoky exit.

Most people get married
believing
in the myth that doing
so will bring about
life-long contentment.
They fail to understand
that sometimes
different flowers
are not meant to grow
in the same garden.
Things change. People change.
Love begun
can become
love undone.
The swirls and twirls
of living together
can come to define
different directions.
The marriage box
might start out
with commitment
and understanding.
A shared set of goals
that expresses itself
in shapes and patterns
of mutual anticipation.
It's sad when this changes.
When you wake up one day
and realize
you are struggling to
hold a conversation.
When there is really
nothing left to say
to one another.
Sentences are empty
of depth and
lined with wax paper
like a discarded
sandwich.
And there will
come a day,
a sobering day,
when she will say,
"I've met another.
I'm not in love with you,
anymore."