I can’t plant them in the sand. My toes
can’t giggle from the rocks
and pebbles. The stubby rebels like
to dance!  And how can they splash
taking out the trash? What shall they leave
me as they drain of my blood?
Footprints in the mud!

The problem is my legs.
They’re stuck as pegs in
a board. And both play off –
chord. I can’t swim in the ocean. I sit –
no motion. What shall they leave
me, the twin evils?
Tons of pins and needles!

looking at the screen
to land. Running out of fuel,
flying minus an engine tightens up
the suspension. The air is thin

as ma’s hairpin. But the clouds
are thick as a cement brick. Veering
off as a wild horse, bent as his divorce –
circling. If we don’t bring her

down! Pieces strewn! Not all immune
from crashing. I see the signs of
freedom flashing close to
my eyes!

Now I’m a cactus. It took
practice for my petals to turn
to spines. Sticking out
and sharp, none can touch

without a stabbing *****. I’m a walking
needle stick. I was sweet perfume. My bloom
filled the room. I met many devils. Every man
pulled out a petal. Kept tucked

under his pillow. My head hanging
as a weeping willow. I ran out of brine;
and lost my shine. This is as I grew
the spines. Now I stand untwined. No more

can man cut or pluck me. He’d bleed
if he tried to shuck me. I’m not soft and
sweet. Now, I’m thick and can take
the heat! But I miss the garden. The earth
underneath harden.

at the bottom
of the *******

Jack box. After wading
through rocks of sugar-
coated clumpy munchies

you end up with a scrunchy
that snaps as you
have it hold your pony.  Not

real, a phony covered in
thin paper. Thin as a wafer. If
you savored the edible trip

you could have lapped
the journey of cardboard
that pulled all the chords of

your red velvet harp. But no! You’ve
a tummy-ache and a rubber snake
for your woes!

split and falling off
the string. Scattering all
around the floor, rolling
out the door. Clouded pebbles

filled with rain hide in nooks
from the broken chain. Dust bunnies
ate a couple. She took the strand,
empty, not supple to the man

behind the glass. But it wasn't light
despite all vacant tenants. And no
pennants for the years of work
to add to the string making worth

the gifts of a milky mother
clung as young to the hanging
teats of the udder.

if I touch him
he’ll splinter. Bare
as the trees in winter. He wrestles
as the leaves. And he

nestles in the wood. Bark peeling
as the paint on my hood. The robin
doesn’t nest. The squirrel doesn’t
run on his branches. For friends

he’s none.  Even the woodpecker
hasn’t a slot! His trunk has holes
as fisherman’s knots.

were dripping
with sarcasm. They
soaked the back of
my red velvet coat with

contempt. I stood still
as a statue. The water pigeons
shot their dropping on
me, as bombs. I pined for him

to pull me in. But the needles
of the pine stuck into me,
as a cork in a bottle of bubbly. The man
is aching from this afternoon. His eyes hung

down to his trousers. I, in the showers
of the eaves stepped back and saw
the rain in my spot. We danced inside
a house of mirrors. As I left the sky grew clearer.