in him. He'll turn as
the weather. And shrink you
down as a wool sweater in
the wash. Toss you out as

as he flies off, flapping his wings,
like an albatross. Stormy as the sea. Scabby
as a dog full of fleas. He's a snake
crawling on his belly. Fake as

a pseudonym. Nugatory as
a broken limb. With shards in
the chardonnay he'll grind you
as a French pate'. Spreading himself

thinner than the air around
an airplane. Nosediving you till all
****** fluids are drained. Leaving a stain
on the carpet. All along, you were his target!

of hailstones throwing
torches
cracking holes
in these back porches.
Dancing crimson
in a prison
of ice.
Shaking tales
as barnyard mice.

The sky is weeping
nectarines.
I stand behind
The back porch screen.
Wind whipping them all
like pinballs in a penny arcade
as I'm sipping lemonade.

Talking heads
these jack-o-lanterns
as I sit behind the curtain.
I carved the faces out myself,
hiding the knife in a book
up on the shelf.

Another night
of fitful sleep and the pain
of butchered sheep.
I'm on the lam.
And cooked just like
the holiday ham.

as the dandelion
lying in the sun
the flowered golden head
run over by the mower
****** in the spin
the blade set to lower

Regrow
as the worm
cut into threes
regenerate a new body

Regrow
as the hair
on your head
falling on the floor
or from the dog
that shed
this loss you can restore

Regrow
as the leaves
breaking from the trees
fly in the breeze
over mountains and seas
rise in full bloom
big as the moon!

in shade. I laid
in sun till it scorched
me. Blisters grew
like fat plums on the tree.

I live
in shadow. I'd glow
in red light. Till the brightness
made me blind. And the light
burned my behind.

I live
in stillness. This illness
is from too many days
dancing in the sun.

I live
in stone. I'm a mountain
that stands alone. I've my books
and poetry. Men don't
notice me.

as the leaves in autumn
from green to crimson
from smiling cornflower sky to
a snow-crusted bottom

of lies. The bloom
off the rose. Is it something
that happened or
something you chose? The oak,

my canopy cut down
to a stump jutting out of
the ground. I look up and see
where the ropes tied to the branch

holding the tire swing, in April
the beginning of spring. You pushed
a girl in a sunflower dress
as the church bells rang and

the robin sang. You pushed
her, with hands on her back, her wavy
hair fly in the air, and the clack of
the hens crocheting in chairs. The lilacs,

dripping sweet till the moon
hung like a cheeseball with teeth. All this
in the spot where a stump sits
and the roots rot as the sky spits.

from top
to bottom. After autumn
the colors bleed. And the red
and gold leave. Jutting out

are gnarly pointed
twigs, like ma's hair
sans her wigs. They scratch
and tangle themselves

into a sculpture
looking like some helter-
skelter. No shelter in this
mass. No flower blooms

in dead grass. So, cut it
down. It's lost its spring. No bird
to build her nest. No Robin
to grow her wing.

sweeping her arms
across the water
nature's daughter
sleeping in the mid-day sun
little ripples tickles finger leaves
that skim the water in a breeze

green umbrella cloaking
every gal and fella
sitting under her
a canopy of love
the cooing of two doves
dancing in the branches above

now a feather sailing as a ship
from the swan
lying on the lawn
after a morning swim
near the rim of the pond

the sky cornflower blue
and the iris's sweet dew
rolls off

I'm a dwarf
in a mountainous world
a pill bug curled
passing through
milking the view