They look to mars
across the stars
for spaceships hovering over the sky
are they friend or are they spy

flying saucers in the air
to whom this life do we compare
green men with elongated heads
Rastafarians wearing Jamaican dreads

Tattoos on limbs/rings in noses
women are men and red as roses
earth's burning hotter every day
we're all part of the same milk way

full of crimson
not stark as a prison,
where gnarly limbs scratch
the frame of my house. Or stripped

as a ***** that's turned over
and again, so that its grooves
have worn thin. They see
a flower, not the stalk of

thorns. The sun dancing on
the sea, not the blackness
underneath. I dove into
where the sun doesn't

shine. I waltzed in a pyramid
of brine. I imploded like a
submarine, lit like a match
to a tank of gasoline.

in the washer
tossed with the coloreds. Pure as
driven snowflakes was I! Sweet
as ma's apple pie. Then bra's

snapped their straps
at me. The dungarees wrapped
their denim long legs around
me. The red thong bled its crimson so,

I was no longer as the ******
snow. I wrinkled in a mess of pa's
stiff cornflower shirts ma had
pressed. Mangled in sheets and

sweaters. Drowning in suds. The rocking
back and forth of this washer with
a thud. I flew out of the machine painted pink,
blue and green. I shrunk down a size or

two. I didn't fit. So, I was kept in the closet
down the hall to wipe the walls and
tabletops/ an old dust cloth. Till I grew moldy
and black. Then they threw me in the trash.

of the morning
coffee percolating in the Corning
pendulum swinging back and forth
hands traveling south and north

the eggs and bacon are now plating
this full bladder is done waiting
doltishly climbing out of bed
legs of rubber/feet of lead

clouded eyes cannot focus
breakfast table hocus-pocus
punching keys of grey
for two crumbs of pay

flickering of light through the glass
dew drops clinging blades of grass
robin chirping/squirrels scamper
***** clothes pile in the hamper

like a hornet
black tie yellow jacket
singing like a sonnet
letters tied in a packet

bright red and burning
welts dancing in pain
tossing and turning
he Tarzan, I his Jane

I didn't see him land
off in a trance of gin
cannot say life is bland
he's underneath my skin

I pen it in blood ink
with ice to cool the swelling
and as I slowly sink
epoxy for the telling

at summer’s end,
as birch trees bend
in the breeze. And butterflies
flutter and tease. My hot breath

on the glass. The smell of
smoky crimson ash. Dew drop
pearls on rose petals. Dancing water in
stove-top kettles. His whispers dangle

in my garden. Like the hammock
hung in the yard in the nook
between the trees. I shook him off
in one tight squeeze.

two green eyes
trace the cornflower sky
jump in
the cotton-candy clouds

red wine lips
to drink
the sun kissed eclipse
a pearl nose

to breathe
the blooms
a garden grows
lilac perfume

the sweet song
of the robin
this day is calling
me in pirouettes

to brush
the blackened silhouettes
and sprinkled showers
of rainbow confetti

this day
has not a crease
honking
like a flight of geese