draping over her.
Blowing minted kiss,
In a sea of grass.
Another day shall

pass. Glazed eyes mist
into a lime twist.
Dangling participles,
arms and wrist. Head

dropped back, stuffed
as a gunny sack. Hair spread
as a shaggy carpet. The argot of
the poet's dream. All the pages

in-between
of men and silent children’s
screams. But she can breathe
the air lying in cornflower cotton

and rope. This world forgotten,
with a drink to have her afloat.
Swinging, hanging suspended.
This is the life she intended.

He Puts Too
in front of everything
I do.
Too Intense -
Too Demanding -
Too Loud -
Too Talkative -

Two is the loneliest number
I've known.
When he's with me
I'm alone.
My shell is my home.

So, as I left him
he asked for forgiveness.
Too Late

with yellow fingers spread
and a chocolate cupcake for her head.
Blooming the month of June. In August
is her honeymoon. Rising in fields

of green the sunny face
of childhood dreams. Blowing kisses
in the wind/dancing with her native kin.
Making her brim in cherry lip

Smiles. Cornflower sky for miles.
The sweetest nectar for the butterflies
and bees. Growing in the garden/a midnight spree.
Tickling me from nose to knees.

This little *** of gold/noon day cup of tea
with her own complimentary leaves.
How did this name impel
into battery you befell?

the pyramids of egypt
swim the seven seas
climb Mount Everest
but I'd not find

a man so soft and kind.
I'd bathe in turquoise waters
on a shore of pink powder sand
among cockleshells and waves

that swell and still not feel myself
without you to hold my hand.
Butterflies, key lime pie and
a cornflower sky don't do a thing

for me if I'm not with you. Morning dew
would look like sweating leaves. And cotton
candy clouds would look as shrouds
on corpses hung on trees.

minus the sweetness
and the stuffing
minus the plump berries
the rising powder and sugar
egg and the oil
the silver liners of foil
minus the flour and milk
much here to bilk
but the blue hangs on
like a torch drawn song
it permeates his hands
an indelible stain
that she wears behind her
as a bridal train

My life is organized colorful squares
cut out and sewn together
through the years smiles and tears
sailing on in all sorts of weather

A storybook of girl and boy
sickness, birth and death
years I could not enjoy
but some took my breath

Pet hair and spilled lily perfume
baby spit, sand and ketchup
the highlights of this bedroom
a quilted blanket of the mess up

To pass on to my children
as passed onto me
this life we're building
and lives we cannot see

running rivers.
and flowing chocolate streams.
I cried Rocky Mountains
eating quarts of rocky road ice-cream.
Cried after my mother beat me,
leaving welts on my lily soft behind.
And when I bought the house
all the papers I signed.
I cried in my martini.
Cried in my tight leopard-skinned pants.
Walking the beach in my striped string bikini.
At my howdy doody wedding
during the father-daughter dance.
I cried pushing out my son.
And again, at age four when the paramedics
raced him out the door on a black leather stretcher.
And as I was ***** willow *****
by a  amniotic Freudian letcher.
I cried after his beating,
when I saw his black eye.
There hasn't been a day
that my eyes been dried.