I'd sneeze and oust him
in the air. And blow out
his candle, ***** out the flare
in a fell-swoop kerchoo. His little

bits floating like pepper
in the stew. I'd swallow them
with parsley and celery seed
and some paprika too. The smoky

flavors added with the capers
and the rue turns into vapor as
a freight train passing through. I wear
him as a red and blue tattoo. If only

he was a pebble I’d shake him
out of my shoe. But he’s rooted in
my brain and fastened with a *****. So,
I drain him ink and sell it out as news.

yesterday up
like dust on the floor. And
stored the gritty sand
in my bedroom drawer.

I swept
his lies
underneath the rug, till the
pile grew into a mountain. I
wasn't counting on tripping
over the smoky stack with only
a woolen weave to hold it in
the shack.

I swept
my dress
along the aisle
like a bride's train. And wept
my whole bouquet, as petals
shed like rain. And the stain
painted on my back became a bullseye
for men to aim all their flak.

round and plump and ripe,
sweet and red and bright.
No one takes a bite.
They hang there day and night.

The worms they drill their holes.
Inside a fungus grows.
They even chew the leaves.
Once pretty now diseased.

The sky is weeping snow.
The apples fall and roll.
Under the tree they froze.
Blanketed in white they doze.

No juice, cider or pie.
No ****, dumplings or crisps.
No man, woman or child
to smile and lick their lips.

as dripping beads
of egg-white
lying on the kitchen
quartz. My life's cut like

my jean shorts, ragged
and straggly.  I've wept
rivers. Like standing in
the cold rain I drain. So, now

I'm tapped. Someone ******
all the sap out of me, with their hands
like milking a tree. I'm dry as my father's
jokes. They didn't draw many laughs

from the blokes. I'm dry as
the Atacama. But drier still is
my drama. Dry as the chardonnay,
and the spill from yesterday.

to fly
as an albatross
in an ocean sky.
But drowning
on a sandy shore,
picking at an apple core.

I'm trying
to swim
as a salmon
in the air.
But can't lift my weight
off this red velvet chair.

I'm trying
to grow
a castle in the clouds.
My head is floating
as a balloon.
But crowds
are tying me down
with their silver spoon.

I'm trying
to lift off
as a rocket.
But this stone
sits heavy
in my pants pocket.

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.