“She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.
I am important to her. She comes and goes.
Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.
In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman
Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.”
- Sylvia Plath*

The evening is so dull.
Too many plain words can describe this night.
I think I just might become her or she
Might already be a part of me.
My eyes crawl over her perfected letters.
Together, they all read so divine.
She is so divine it affects me.

Divinity swells my eyes.

I should care more about tonight.
A night like this will never come again.
In heaven I will be dreaming about this night
As I squalor in gods light.In hell it will be my happy place
As the fire blisters swell.
As the devil hovers over my made bed.
While his demon breath caresses my neck.

I can hear words.
Coming in from the west and settling
******* my chest.They weigh my heart down.
Tonight is heavy.
Tonight is the only night.

The words whispered during the early morning.
The sentences screamed "JUSTICE!" whiles
the broken eyes were hung from a branch.
Friendship knows no evil and has no fear.
it crawls on glass, it waits in the meadows,
it waits for the perfect attack.

It had to be said and it had to be said to you.
I can feel the tip of your word knife against my heart.
I harden as it deepens.
It depends if i even care.
It depends on the mood that i squalor in.

It depends on me, this situation.
And it deepens and deepens.

The soft grey wave
is trickling in over the
Rose Hill that never
Bows, scowls, weeps or thinks.
Never sinks, never drowns or howls.

I see you weeping at her feet.
You move over her and blanket
her breast.
The Rose Hill stays bold.
And the cold is nothing new to her.
Soft and grey, it crashes down.
Flooding her feet. Fickled  and
Tampered, soft and grey , it recedes.

Rose, you are blushing.
It is all in your breast.
Death is in your chest and you bare it,
and lock it.
Corp cells circulate with mad cells
in your mad house breast.

Soft and grey it passes.
All that is left is a sky blue grin.

Bad girl.
Bad pills.
Bad Food.
Bad ***.
Bad T.V.

All I have are these books to read.
Now that my skin had shed,I'm letting my thoughts flee.
I'm letting it bleed.

Bad love.
Bad dreams.
Bad car.
Bad Hair.
Bad family.

There he is,waiting and
Watching the storm come in.
The clouds roll in like tumble weeds.
Thunder rocks the muddy banks,
While Wishkah lives
With its live scene.

There he is.
Uninviting to the casual passerby.
Appealing to the trained lady eye.


His situation is easy to fall into.
You will slip into the abyss,
Where everything is black and
The voices in your head become real.
He will peal the pale off your skin,
Pick you up and force you in.
Force you down and lie you flat.
Scrapes off lies from you lips.
Scalpel to cheek, he takes you in.

The blur sets in
And there he is.

The final howling begins.
The thunder meets the wind.
In detox, feeling like a small man.
He drops you into a crate box.

"In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life. It goes on. " - Robert Frost*


I have grown old, but never grown cold.
My pessimist Egyptian eyes never overthrown
Or disrobed my optimistic heart.
I was born under a bad moon
And held in the arms of a child-wife.
Thick or thin,
Holy or sin,
Dog-days,  I took them all in.
Now it is time for me to venture to the unknown
where no mind has had a chance to tell of.
Soon I will go out with the tide.
They weep and pray for my soul.
"OH! I just don't know!" they wail.

I know.

I know the children still play,
The birds still sing and the bombs still fall.
The flower still blooms
And the wind will still howl.
London will still have a Queen
And I know you will still breathe.
Thick or thin, holy or sin,
I know you can take in.

I will not look back when I cross the bar.
I know I do not have to.

At one time I offered charity
to the asking lip.
My husband on his knees
asking me to forgive.
If I had gotten away
with a string of pearls,
then I might know where to step
in this revolving world.

Plastic lips ask for charity.
Plastic lips tell lies.

The asking lips beg
for my charity and time.
But I find it hard to forget
all the time I wasted.
All the charity I gave away
to people I now hated.

Asking lips pass me by.

Whispers to me about love
and more asking lies.
I want my husband on his knees
begging me to forgive
begging for my charity
with his plastic lip.