her hair with Rave
shaves her ****
bends and squats

She teases
the boys with her jugs
large as June bugs
the milk duds flit
and flop

She tease
the truth out of
handsome men
that pay a ransom
just to see them
shimmy
and ****

She teases
the fibers out of
the wool
she can’t
sit still
when she's not

is a Picasso. She paints
it with the mascara wand. Rising
at dawn to roll the tube of crimson
wax to color her lips. She dips in a brush –

not for dust. But to sweep the powered
roses on her flesh. The shadow she sees
are mint green or azure. Depends on
the day if she’ll wear less or add

more. A pencil isn't for
writing the script, She underlines
her eyes with it.

the chrysalis
and not the butterfly
too much the cracked shell
not the cygnet inside

I’m too much
the fallen leaves
not the branches on the trees
to much the yellow weeds
not the grass surrounding these

I’m too much
a joke
not the punchline
just a runny yolk
spoiling the egg-whites

is simple. It croaks
and splashes in the pond
from dusk to dawn. To be
glad jumping from lily pad

to lily pad, not on
the run. To catch my meal
by sticking out my
tongue!

stuck as a splinter
in my hand. I remember December
as the coldest month, the first
Christmas you were not here. And people

said “wait til next year.” Next year
is a stillborn birth. And all I can do
is weep at the girth of deaths. Underneath
the wreath on the door is a sign –

don’t stand around here without
the shot. I’ll take mine in the mouth. I’ve
shot myself in the foot. I’d walk out
on myself. Irreconcilable differences I’d claim.

when we’re born
we’re dying to talk
but the notes
don’t connect
So, we grimace our faces
and contort our necks?

Why is it
when we’re dead
our names are cut
in slabs of stone
But we can’t see
them etched
until we’re bones?

Why is it
when we're here
we're not?
We're in our heads
with feets of lead

I’ve walked past his words
as they’re all I’ve heard. And the echoes
of them bounce off my wall
like a ping-pong ball.

I can’t say
I’ve forgiven him. I carry
this as a turtle carries
their shell. But it doesn’t protect
me. Can't you tell?

I can’t say
I’ve moved forward. I’m a pawn
on the chess table. A piece is able
to knock me off.

I can’t say
I’m holding up. I’m a paper
cup. I'm soggy. I can’t
wash the blues. Pulled from a stack –
not made to last. I lose.