dripping in pellucid beads
in the same metronomic
speed. Like dew on
a silver blade or sweat sticking

to your nape when there is no
shade. Hanging off
the end in a bulbous blob
like that of a soupy sob. The long

dull thud of the kerplunk,
like hitting a wall when
you are drunk sits heavy
like a stone. Pearls of liquid

drone. Like rain they pitter-
patter. And when they fall
they scatter like mice back in
their hole, black as a lump of coal.

her voice
like thunder clapping
in a billowing cloud.

She raised
the roof.
She was so loud.

She raised
her fist
high in the air
with a laundry list.
She'd swear and hiss.
Blackened both eyes
when she didn’t miss.

She raised
her only child
like a dog,
on a tight lead
in a drunken fog.

She raised
her rent
to the tenants
to pay the stack of bills.
But it didn't make a dent
in them. The only thing
she dented was the family car
after driving home drunk
from the neighborhood bar,
smelling like a cheap cigar.

washed away
from the splash of
sea spray. Tiny crystal
grains of sand still clinging

under my fingernails. Two
boys building castles
with shovels and pails. I drew
a heart around the letters. It was

so cold we both wore
sweaters. The cornflower
sky was smiling down
as salty ocean water pooled

around my ankle. You
were rankled by a thought. I was not
the woman you sought.  A proxy
with honey locks and pearl teeth. We did

not hold hands. We held lies
that pushed their way in like the ocean
tide. And so, we ran out of shore,
on a beach in Bangor.

has no color. It’s duller
than a lecture full of
statistics. And she doesn’t
have the logistics to pull it

off. Her eyes troughs
of stale rainwater infested
with mosquitos. Her nose,
a stuffed burrito, sliding in

the sauce, with two holes
that blow it off into the hot
air. Her egg-shaped head
strings a patch of honey

hair. Her lips are red rubber
bands that land above her
chin. And I, haven’t seen her
smile, since she last seen him.

hot as you snuck in, a swab
with a megawatt grin. There's a fire
in the old man's chair. In his hand
a can a beer. Heads hang on the walls,
a buffalo and brown bear.

My walls
were yellow straw as I lay
swaddled tight, a cherry
babe. Clawed and bled
by a buck. Swatted around
like a hockey puck.

My walls
were sticks, like
my legs. I learned to walk
on two thin pegs. I did not talk.
Just wept and begged. Slept
in till my eyes glazed over
like a donut, burned my cheeks
with his cigarette butts.

My walls
were bricks I'd stick
in my black leather shoes.
You tried to push me. But I'd not
move. I'd not fall or
blow down.

My walls
were tall
and blocked the
sound.

in a yellow daffodil.
Gave a cornflower sky
a black eye.
And I still didn't get

my fill of him.
He was a scouring pad,
a crustacean, a crawdad.
There was little meat

to him.
Lots of mouth
and swashbuckling trim.
And I fell head over

feet into his walls
and lilac sheets. Drowning in
a sea of green, a young girl's wish
to fill an old woman's dream.

like a lipstick kiss with a dab of
water the size of a quarter. Or like
chocolate fudge smudged on my chin,
taking it off with a bar of soap and

a square washcloth.  Or just like
the ring around the tub, a little ammonia
and scrub it clean with elbow
grease. Or throwing it in the washer

machine with the whites. It come out
bright. But no! This pain is a stain
of spilled red wine. It's grown teeth
like a rabid canine. Spreading

like mud on a swine. Rolling in
it. Covering me. It's up to my
knees! Caked on my hands. Bled out
my colors and broke all my plans.