I spend all my days
and nights with. I curl up
on the couch with. My ocean
fleece blanket is a pouch

which I wrap my body in. It's
my cocoon on a rainy
afternoon. This blackened
silhouette burns me like

a smoking cigarette, enshrouds
me in a fog, as I lay sleeping like
a log. Dancing pirouettes in
my crimson cotton sweats, with

a book between my hands,
a ***** and lime sitting on the
nightstand. I have no plans. I like to
doze till twilight hits my toes.

he has fangs
and not teeth? He has
scales and not bangs.

Couldn't she see
he hasn't legs? He slithers
on his belly. And was hatched
from an egg!

Couldn't she see
his pupils are slitted
and cannot dilate or
contract? He'll outgrow her
like his skin once she’s wrapped
up in him. And then he’ll leave her flat.

Couldn't she see
his tongue is split
at the tip like a fork? And in
one little kiss she'll be slabs
of salt pork.

her song as perfume
like a garden in full bloom.
Sweet as the lilac trees,
in a warm embracing breeze.

She spilled
her long honey hair
like a waterfall
all over him,
his face and his limbs.

She spilled
her creamy *******
like a bird's nests,
out from her tight dress.
The color of robin's eggs-
Blue.
Then she flew.

She spilled
her teardrops
like a rain shower,
in a large paper cup.
Then she drank
it all up.

falling through square holes,
a rain shower of brown.
Sifting through/seeing it pour down.
Looking for the golden

nugget. But all I'm collecting
are rocks in my purple bucket.
Grey stones bouncing in a circle
plastic mesh, as the sun is whistling

hot, burning out my flesh.
Waves crashing to the shore,
like a stoner strung on ****.
All this for not!

I exhale on my next
breath.

like the carcass of a duck.
Sans feathers before the roasting.
Man pouring champagne in a red neck flute,
toasting his capture and making me mute.

I was plucked
like a woman's brow.
Tweezed till I was extracted.
Men were distracted in shaping me.
Thinning me out like garden of weeds.

I was plucked
like ukulele strings
to make beautiful music
out of all my suffering.
Strumming my thumb on mahogany,
sweet as a baby wallaby.

I was plucked
like blueberries off the shrub.
Dropped in a tin pail
took home and scrubbed.
I was a tasty snack.
But after you're plucked
they can't put you back.

the day I was born
cut from the red ****** cord
that nourished me
cut like a hanging branch
sawed off the maple tree

I was shorn
like the green grass
in spring
before my time
of flowering
didn’t stand an inch to grow
every weekend
I was mowed

I was shorn
like wool's sheep
on the old man's farm
skirted, rolled and bagged
blind, naked and sagged

I was shorn
of the skin I’ve worn
all my life
shed it like a snake
at night
grew a new birthday suit
didn’t iron out
the wrinkles
learned to dress
finessed in crinkles

the bird outside
my window, the chattering
blue jay as he ***** from
branch to branch. And the cranch
of the squirrel breaking
acorns with his teeth, turning it
with his claws beneath my stairs.
The buzzing bee dancing circles
around the azalea. If I only lived
in Australia! And the neighbor's
kids racing their scooters down
the street while I'm trying to watch tv,
as my poetry sits quietly on the coffee
table gathering dust. And the cable box
is playing a nature show as I doze
to the splashing of the orca. There goes
another day down the drain.