as a pancake,
somersaulting high in the air
an acrobatic made of eggs, milk and flour.
Scared the sleeping, curled up cat,
lying on the kitchen chair.
Falling flat into a frying pan of sizzling butter,
Plumping himself.
bumping against the sides
filling the whole bottom.
Gold as the leaves in autumn.
Shining as the sun,
but none to turn him.
He burned from outside in.

As she cut into him
the gold turned black,
sticking as plague to her teeth.
Charred as ash underneath.
No honey, cream or syrup
could deter it.
And even if it could
she'd not prefer it.

like colored tinsel
on the trees. The metal coils
flapping in the breeze,
to seize the souls of men. Her stiletto

is her fountain pen. The ink
dripping, her blood, a mountain of
meter in lace gloves. The prosaic
ghouls have not cultivated

their tools. Their turgidity has no
mobility. Sits as stone. Two silhouettes
burned down as daddy's smoked
cigarettes. Crummy as mother's

week old scones. Her poetry beats
are milky as a cow's teats. But still
she drums on, praying for her lines
to spawn.

she thought of a cornflower sky
the shimmering Morpho butterfly
her father’s soft cobalt eyes
the warm waters of the Caribbean Sea
a sweet, plump blueberry
or the desert bluebell flower

Then her life turned sour.
And the blue faded into shades
of grey.
Hovered in the air
all day.
Hung like garlic breath.
The thief in the night -
a crib death

like nail polish
in specks,
leaving flecks of red.

Peeling off
like paint on the walls.
Flaking off
in shards of cornflower blue,
as she falls in her bedroom.

Burning out
like a smoked cigar.
She once was champagne
and caviar.

Dripping
like a leaky faucet.
She's drawn the line.
No man can cross it.

Me, Myself & I

at slow and steady speed
walking side by side
no one takes the lead
scaling mountains
one step at a time
fingers laced together
making the arduous climb
in all types of weather

if one of us slipped
the other two cushion the fall
we are all equipped
to handle it all
the three of us
against the world
building up a truss
head held to the sky
Me, Myself & I

she sits, a stone.
An ivory tower
as they drone.
Like a lilac flower

she blends in
the mauve curtains.
Drinking her tonic and gin.
The clink of ice and chit-chat.

She nods and smiles.
So still, she's sat
it pains her piles.
Women flutter

like butterflies.
Men stutter
straightening their ties.
Walking to the table

of crackers and cheese
she can't stable
her wobbling knees.
She takes a bite

and wipes her lips.
A smudge of pink
on her lace napkin.
Her hair piled high

with a hatpin.
She sips
her watered drink.
The lanky guy

blinks like a light.
His unzipped fly
makes her shrink
like bubbles in the sprite.

He weaves in and out
with an open mouth.
Talks with a drawl
like a hick from the south.

She's uninvited.
So, she can't decline.
Is she slighted?
Or out of line?

all the tangles
with the snap of a finger
or the toss of my head
the wag of my tongue

split the things that he said
do I go back to the place
of imaginary grace? Inside of
my youth, a prize lies

for the lost tooth. Under
my pillow, as the sun slides
down from the sky, as the shades
are drawn to a lullaby. The hands

on the clock race. Do I go back
to this place? A place of paper dolls
and bunny walls. And teacups and saucers
flying over the falls.