and he cinder,
ashes to my pyre. A match
that not catch fire. A grey
cold lump of coal

was he, a roll around
crunchy'crimson fallen
leaves. Billowing smoke stung
the air. Bleeding lips kiss

to bare.  Pressing breast
bone. Dead eyes don't
blink. They stare into a cornflower
sky. Body limp as noodles

in my Pad Thai. The burn to
ignite to ashes holed up in a urn
was my oversight!  Next time
I'll learn not to be smite.

the pieces splitting
become parts of their own,
each with a tongue
and a backbone. The jagged

edges are my sharps
that I pluck as the steel strings
of a harp. This music I dance
over the page. All the pieces

pulchritudinously engage! Crystal
snowflakes embound. A brilliant
diamond in the round. Like a mosiac
of colored tiles I wear it as

my father's grey and red
argyles. I fine tune this craft
out of broken splinters
and built me a raft!

from the sky. But I’m no longer
third eye blind. Buzzing
down as hornets from their paper
tree nests. Flocking toward me

like the gulls at sea,
tenebrous grey unrest. This
red pin cushioned porcupine
cannot roll with sharp, long

spines. I jab the sidewalk. Dab
in side talk. Once the sky snowed
luminous butterflies. Pirouetting like
ballerinas. But now I'm handing men

subpoenas! Maybe this cornflower
prison that I’ve been living will pour me
some buttered *** from the flask
of the golden sun.

swallowing her whole
the quicksand
holing her up
shots fired
into a paper cup
she's leaking out the sides
the shell of a woman
with nowhere to hide
she cannot be stitched
with needle and thread
a woman unhitch
he's gone to her head
Swiss cheese
honeycombs
hollow cells for stinging bees
a place she can call home

has canine teeth
sharper than a stiletto
slashing you underneath
and doesn't let go

This Pain
has Teflon claws
that'll rip you apart
in seconds without pause

This Pain
an explosive karate kick
breaking you apart
like a stack of boards
with martial arts

This Pain
has thick dark ink
with quill in hand
you'll slide and sink

as a chocolate bunny
wrapped in golden foil
don't spend your money
you can poke a hole

through him
slide your finger in
and he'd break a part
pieces dry and thin
not a work of art

biting into emptiness
he looked like more
but had much less
not even a core

he won't fill you up
he's like piping hot coffee
in a small disposable paper cup
a sip is all you get
the paper's mush when wet

him like an onion
layer upon layer.  Women weep
the more in deep. They'll see
he's just a player. I'm gonna

fry him, coat him in the oil,
in rings like Saturn. Cut him up
in tiny pieces, in the soup
to boil. I'm gonna sauté' him

with a cherry hot red
pepper. He'll burn their tongues,
pretty and young, till they see he's
just a *****. Smother him in

the cassoulet. Make him sweat
another day. Mix him with sour cream
and chives, calling him a dip. He sits
as a lump on potato chips.