sitting on top of a cloud
of whipped cream
covered in rainbow sprinkles,
swimming in chocolate

sauce and vanilla beam
often gets tossed to the
bottom. It's a rocky road of
marshmallow and nuts. Some blend

in. Some are gobbled up. This world
is pooling in a disposable cup. The little
shiny red maraschino with its matching-
colored stem is only an ornament

like the star on top of
a Christmas tree. But stars
stay on top. The cherry floats
to the bottom, is eaten or forgotten.

to a rainbow
diamond kite
wound around
a handle tight
fly high into
the bright sunshine

Strings tied
on my finger
help me remember
all my plans for
this December

Strings tied
to the center
of two round wooden disks
of a yo-yo
go up and down
in my hand
to and fro
but do not land

Strings tied
to my violin
I play with a bow
held under my chin
sweet music
making me grin

Strings tied
to my goose
as he bakes in the oven
I let loose before I feast
and he's salted
and well-greased

String Tied
to me
that don't suit me
leaving me in a rut
are the strings
I got to cut

Strings tied
to this heart
are the type
I cannot part

before. And shall be said
again. That friends can turn into
lovers. But lovers cannot turn
into friends. I cannot talk to you
without wanting to kiss your

strawberry wine lips. I cannot walk
beside you without wanting my hands
around your lean square hips. I cannot
look up at the stars without seeing

them in your shiny chestnut
eyes. No matter how long it's been
I cannot cut these ties. I cannot
pretend it doesn't pain me

to see you with another
woman. I don't like to be
like this. But this heart in my
breast has turned wooden as
a spoon. Without your warm

caress nothing sticks like the snow
in June. I still lose my breath when I look
at you. Guess I'll go to my death
without saying these two little words “I do.”

break off their golden
bright leaves when it suits
them. And the red rose
drops its petals as it

hangs its head low. And the acorns
fall from the sky as the robin flies
heading south for the winter. And bark
on the branches splinter. And day

grows black as night, as the sun
skips out of sight.  So, why do I
hold on?  The trees are bare
and sun gone. Every flower bloomed

has died. Even the emerald
green grass had dried and turn
to seed.  So, why don't I take
their lead and leave you?

hung out to dry
on a long clothesline. Blowing
in the ***** wind and pinned
to a memory. I was

just a tight rose bud before
the rain turned this to mud. I
was white as a beluga. And he
even smoother. The only

ties were the ribbons around
my chestnut tresses, long before the lies
he dresses up in pearls. The years faded
this baby girl. And I cannot say I miss them

any more than I miss the leaves
that hastily blown off the backyard
maple trees. All shall bloom, as flowers do,
when spring sees this winter through.

like the frozen ground
in winter. And it shows in
the branches, bare and
splintered. Scattered into

shards all over my back
yard. I only weep now in
icicles. They circle
under my eyes like bicycle

wheels, leaving their tracks on
my face. But I don't feel. My skin's
a suit of armor. I wear it like a farmer
wears his overalls, tightly up against

his *****. And this head is so
heavy. It sits on my neck like a Colorado
Chevy. Some days it drives right off,
like rainwater on the trough.

in me today. My get up
and go has run away. My mind's
spinning circles like a spinning
wheel. I cannot jot down

what it is I feel. My fingers lie
flatly on the keys. My eyes looking
out the window at the bare naked
trees. The branches scratch

my windowpane that's coated
in this morning's rain. And the blankness
on my lab top screen is snow white. So, today
is a day I don’t think that I’ll write!