with a stiletto, the **** of her
jokes. And like her cigarette, smashed
into the ground. In a flash, turned to ash
from her smoky breath. Crushed like

a plum tomato in the sauce. I learned
quickly she was boss. Crushed like ice in
her drink, slivers of the rock I was. Melting
in a frosty mug. Like a tin can she

ran over me with an electric mower that had
teeth. I was dented with sharp edges, thrown into
the neighbor's hedges. Like an old car piled high
in the junk yard. Folded up like an accordion

after years of Freudian therapy. My Dreams,
crushed rose petals and scattered  like leaves
in the potpourri. Stuffed inside a bedroom
drawer, lost between the underwear and socks.

Is the cartography of the soul
Where shadows dance and darkness unfolds
It's is the language of the unseen
A whispered dialogue between the heart and the dream

Like an archaeologist of the inner world
It uncovers the artifacts of the unfurled
A tapestry of emotions, intricate and worn
A testament to the human condition, forever torn

Silence, poetry is the sound
Of the heartbeat, the pulse, the rhythm unbound
A symphony of contradictions, a harmony of pain
A celebration of the beauty that remains

Like a mystic, it seeks the unknown
A union with the divine, a oneness with the tone
Of the universe, a vibration that echoes through eternity
A whispered promise of transcendence, a glimpse of infinity

not many of us try
trying to master tossing
***** rhythmically over and over
into the upper atmosphere
successfully

but life,
shoot, that’s another thing,
making juggling a life skill
that comes with the hard
crash of a ball dropped
and all the glue,
can’t return pristine
to what now is an
edgy
design
of a flawed life
cracked up to
be a mis~fortune telling
as
*a map of cracks run rampant
rampaging, ramp aging,

ominously