like Velcro
two strips of plastic sheets
with loops and hooks for teeth
hanging on the wall

He's stuck
as a gold ring
on a swollen finger
the fat wraps around the metal
like spackle in the cracks
so hard I'd need an ax

He's stuck
like a needle
on a phonograph
running over the same track

He's stuck
like Pooh's head
in the honey ***
drowning in that sweet spot

blood petals, pouring on
the table. A crimson blanket
settles as snow on the cables. Outside
the picture window a cardinal

flies as the rose
drops her head like a sleepy
child. The thorns pointing out
like fangs in a viper’s mouth. I remember

September when this rose was
full bloom. And every man smelled
sweet perfume. But didn’t he
have to pluck her. After he ****** her,

flung her like feed for the cattle
into a trough. His garden
in rows of stems, with their heads
cut off.

in rows like cornfields.
Every direction I go
there's more to follow.
I cannot swallow
them whole.

His lies lie
uneven like my lawn
from dusk till dawn.
I’m not drawn to them.

His lies lie
down like a gambler’s
money on the table.
I'm not able to pick up.

His lies lie
on his head
like a cap -
flat.
He spat them out
of his mouth
like a downspout
running into the gutter.
I don't listen to him mutter.

in the afternoon
as sunflowers grow
full bloom. The rose wine
smells like sweet perfume. I string

my head on a cloud. But tie
it down to the ground. So, it doesn't
wander into the neighbor's yard
like a condor flying circles in

the air. And I slump in my plastic  
chair, as the golden sun sinks like
a stone in water. And how I hated
to be her daughter! I pen the lines

that bind me to her in pages
that can be fewer if I abridge. But
the ridge I climbed has no footholds
for my lines. So, I inked them in turpentine.

have teeth
that bite into lies
and mice them up
into mince-meat pies.

These scars
have warts
rough as nails
that hang on all
small details.

These scars
have fists
that knock down walls
punch holes in fences
and crawls through stalls.

These scars
have legs
that run over
the dregs of life
hungover.

in white, red, tan, gold
and black. He wears them dusk
till dawn. As he takes one off he
puts another on. Some are

wool. Some are cotton. Some linen,
some leather. Some with earflaps for
cold weather. Some have bands and
some feathers. For every day

its polyester. He's a cowboy,
and a soldier. He's a sailor and
a jester. He’s a baseball player
and cop. He wears a cap with his high-

top. A Fedora, Tam-O’-Shanter, Porkpie
or a Boonie.The grey felt makes him look
like George Clooney. In the evening, a
Night Cap. He changes hats in a snap.

with kindness. Sang
me a song. Flowered me
in rose petals and smiles
with shoulders mountains

strong.  Skipping hours,
like stones, day after day. My umbrella,
when showers turned this blue sky
to grey. Spoon fed me honey

dripping from his tongue. Painted
me green. Made me feel young, like
a babe swaddled and swung in
a cradle ladled in hugs. So high on

a pedestal, wearing white gloves. I clung
to him like a tight sweater. Clung so tight
I lost all my feathers. I couldn't fly. He killed
with kindness. And dropped from the sky.