that’s overstuffed
with junk. And over the years
I tear. I’ve slit by skates. Torn by
broken promises. My lining's

scraped by insults, belts, straps
whips and quips. I’ve bulged
with ***** laundry. Life's a quandary of
mismatched socks. Men can’t shut

me up. My hide's thin. The mold inside
me dried. The dolls lost their
heads. I’m squashed
underneath the bed. Dust bunnies are

my friends. They can move around
in the billowing wind from my
bedroom window. I cannot. If
you try to lift me up I’ll only

bottom out. All my junk spills -
without a container to hold the swill
it spews as a venomous snake.
I can stand a new crate.

your silver head
on a cloudy day. A ray
of light breaking up
the dragons. Calling for

the nymph on her
smoky wagon. Levitating
her as a hummingbird. All
flat is emotionally stirred. Seconds

hold joy in a denim pocket. A locket
of care wrapped around wavy hair. Lashes
are butterfly wings fluttering in your
face. Your face –

became the sun. A tale of gold
you spun, through glass and
pane, through wood and frame. Not
a touch with hand commands,

only a look, a wave, a smile
that face

of azure and gold
purple to behold
of flat lying creatures
spotted as the sand
rays of sunlight
dancing in your hand
bubbles and caves
tigers with fins
acrobatic dolphins
no tittle-tattle
only the sound of
a wave or a paddle
head clear
as the water
life is moving
all around
I spy a brain
of coral champagne
waving polyps
looking as fingers
a spikey underwater
porcupine
and the stars here
have arms
I can reach out
and touch
they don't fall
they crawl
on the reefs
the color of
autumn leaf's

I run the rapids
on his back. A rocky ride,
an avalanche of spray
and chance. Twists and

turns. Old returns
of smiles have me belted
in the moving whirlwind. I’ve
fallen off once or twice. But the water’s

cold as ice. And I can’t swim. He
has a knack for pulling me
back. Mountains and trees, swirling
leaves of memories steady me, amongst

the spider sun. I spun and spun
as a **** on a vane. Now the falls
are fast here as a cockroach
in the kitchen cabinet. I’ve no regret.

dripping drops of
colored lollipops, in banana,
cherry, apple and grape. Crinkled
as a crepe, swirling on

the bottom as the leaves
in autumn. None cannot turn their head
to the plop, plop, plop. Dancing, glimmering
beads bop sticking to the surface. I’m a

circus show in monotone. This is
my home. I’m thrown together as  
the clouds. But underneath soft
as down. High on the mountain

of my pain, I’ll gush out as
a waterfall in the rain. Men, woman
and children can swim in my tears,
bathe in my sweat and bask in my fears.

in autumn, turning into
a crimson hue. You break off
and fly. Swirling in the
breeze, far from the tree. And then

the billowing wind picks you up
with the dust and rain. And you
land on top of a city street drain. You fall
in the slits of life, edges pointy as

a knife. It’s dark in the ***** water
hole. You stick out as an ugly,
thick mole on milky skin. None see
you riding the sewer. Your pursuer –

a fat rat, seeing you as a raft
to take him on a greasy journey. You wake
lying on a gurney. You once was green,
a gleam in your father’s eye. Surprise!

hung over her. And every rain
she weathered the pain. A
bobblehead, nodding yes,
a saggy mess, hung as

a wet, wrinkled dress on
the wire. The pigeons drop
their bombs on her. She ***** as
a loose shutter outside his

window in the breeze. He hid
the sun under his pillow, catching
the rays from the skylight
in his bedroom. Shining as a flashlight

inside her womb.  The two married
in June. She, the outsider pressed
as cider from the apples
in his eyes.  She cries in amber because

he shakes her as a tambourine.