Ever wonder where  a cowboy's stares  
lead him looking off into all those sunsets,
those puffy clouds on the range
arranged in crimson glory,
he feels , but,
puts on his cowboy hat,
and hides his eyes and dreams

He looks off, a song humming,
recalling a girl so long gone,
expresses his toughness, by that tear you never see.
Rides alone the prairies, him and his steed.

His dusk is all life long. He is tough, granted.
He has a poem inside, tearing him apart.

And, keeps on riding.

I was sick of being a woman,
sick of the pain,
the irrelevant detail of ***,
my own concavity
uselessly hungering
and emptier whenever it was filled,
and filled finally
by its own emptiness,
seeking the garden of solitude
instead of men.

The white bed
in the green garden--
I looked forward
to sleeping alone
the way some long
for a lover.

Even when you arrived,
I tried to beat you
away with my sadness,
my cynical seductions,
and my trick of
turning a slave
into a master.

And all because
you made
my fingertips ache
and my eyes cross
in passion
that did not know its own name.

Bear, beast, lover
of the book of my body,
you turned my pages
and discovered
what was there
to be written
on the other side.

And now
I am blank
for you,
a tabula rasa
ready to be printed
with letters
in an undiscovered language
by the great press
of our love.

I thought of you today,yesterday
And the day before that
For every day good or bad
You'll always be in my head.

I'll never get you out ,
I simply don't know how
In fact ,
I'm thinking of you right about now.

They brought me a quilled, yellow dahlia,
Opulent, flaunting.
Round gold
Flung out of a pale green stalk.
Round, ripe gold
Of maturity,
Meticulously frilled and flaming,
A fire-ball of proclamation:
Fecundity decked in staring yellow
For all the world to see.
They brought a quilled, yellow dahlia,
To me who am barren
Shall I send it to you,
You who have taken with you
All I once possessed?