cannot steal a smile. Narrow
slits that fit awry I cannot pry open
to a cornflower sky, the grass
an emerald hue, a pair of doves

all snug that coo. Cold as Christmas
in the summer, beat on me like
a Timpani drummer. The color drained
like ***** bath water. But left a stain

like the chickens slaughtered. No glint,
even small as a cigarette. I've not seen the
lashes wet. Steely as an elevator door. I press
the buttons. But cannot find my floor.

like a long strand of
hair in the ****, ***** and
hidden. I was a **** in-between
the lines where the sidewalk

ends and the poison ivy
climbs. I spread out like the
plains and withstood the wind,
the sun and the rains. I grew

tall as the trees. I flowered
in a row, even as the winter covered
me in a blanket of snow. I grew
as the grey clouds rolled in

like the old man upstairs
was bowling. Others had gardens
to bloom, with white picket fences
erudite rooms.

another Ground Hog's
Day. Everything's the same,
nothing here to change. The same
sun rises in the east and sets like

dentures in the west. Another day I
brush my yellow teeth, shower and get
dressed. I buy groceries in the store,
run errands and do chores. My phone

is silent as the doorbell chimes. Headlines
print in black ink weather, politics and
crimes. Another night I toss and turn
soaked in sweat. This night is burned,

like breakfast bacon. I'm faking a smile
while the coffee's percolating.  Bills collect
and autumn leaves fall. And this after-
noon I'll wash it down with alcohol.

in an inflatable raft riding
the ocean swells. Above grey
sky and a flock of circling
gulls. Blinded by the mist

rising out of the sea
like a lemon twist
in the martini. The heaving
breast, the biting of the wind

put this elfin body in
a tight tailspin. Waves slapping
this face. Shark bait if this body
doesn’t drown. Screams cannot

be heard. There’s nobody
around. A flash of lightening
puncturing the raft. Madness sets
in. Drink it up and laugh.

is what I grow. For too long
the emerald grass has slept under
a blanket of snow. For years I've
wept under grey bearded

clouds that hung so low, like pig's
snouts. I've not fed the tulip
or daisy. I've become lazy, a melting
popsicle dripping on the stick,

a spasm, a ****. Yes, I was a tic, moving
without rhyme, bottled like thyme that
sat on the shelf. I was for me and into
myself. All that I planted didn't sprout. Head

was overgrown with weeds
I didn't prune. Floating high in the air like
a helium balloon. Shrinking in the afternoon
sun. Wearing this habit like I was a nun.

men
through closed doors
Yes or no,
it's lost its lure.

I'm not chasing
castles in the air.
My feet are on the ground
and they're staying there.

I’m not chasing
rabbits down a hole.
I've changed the objective,
made another goal.

I'm not chasing
yesterday.
It's gone.
Time to move on!

with me today. All the gold
has turned grey. Marshmallow fluff
of woven shawls has rolled down
lanes like bowling *****. The wind is

whipping me like eggs, in peaks of
white that stands on stage. My eyes are
clouds dripping sweet dew down ruddy
hills I powdered with rouge. The fog

outside is like my bathroom mirror. But I
cannot wipe it off with the cotton
washcloth. And the pelting of the rain
on my windowpane rings through

my ears like a screaming baby's
tears. One, with colic that cannot be
soothed. Like my life, a wrinkled dress
I iron out but cannot be smoothed.