When a poem isn’t a poem?
When the contents remain in my journals
Next to my lastest book 50 Shades of Grey
Unread, untouched, in need of a good editor my anthology

Each page form an ear, each smudge!
Weaken a page, chilling and aging
Egging not to be published

One small scented four leaf clover
Developed a teak of grease between a page

These are my stories
Of confession and addictions

Dead birds smothered in gravy
Dead men who never said I am sorry
Ladies who worried about their inner strength”
With each title; with each unbridled/biblical tones
My penmanship, your hidden poems

Through strength I brought forth in my journals
Hidden!  Suffocated! an anthology