my front lawn,
as I'm raking the autumn
leaves.  Eyes follow me
to my backyard from

the street. Eyes sit heavy
in their grey Chevy as I bag
crimson and yellow. Eyes
lit the dark like a spark from

a smoldering cigarette. Eyes
haven't a body, just a silhouette against
the rock. Eyes that stalk leave me
with the creeps. I get rattled by

darting peeps. Eyes on my body,
drink me up like a hot toddy. Black
as tea burning a hole in the ground,
round like a bowl follow me around.

she'll break out of
the bottle. She's been
pushing from within, akin
to a babe in the womb. Except

the womb is now her
room. In vintage blue glass
hours pass like the seasons,
with no rhyme or with no

reasons. Colored red, and
spread out like clouds
painted on the sky. They lie. They're
all genies out there, in navy suits

and striped ties, pleated skirts,
tweed blazers and cotton
shirts. On white walls men blurt. So,
do I. It's how I pass the time.

of night I saw the light through
my neighbor's window. Hunched over
the screen, playing solitaire. His queen
off in another room. And I on my

deck drinking ***** staring into
his womb. He clicks the mouse to
shuffle a card. Our house's so close
like we share the same yard. And we

share the same loneliness too. My king
is off inside. I saw him through
the lamplight. And today the world has
this news of the president elect. It's the red
people choose. And it's so mad that

I'm in the blue, alone in the dark
at five o'clock! Giving myself another
excuse to drink. And I'll ink this in some
literary magazine, and it'll get some
likes from those drag queens.

on my chest as a buttoned
vest. It's a stone I carry
in my purse for better or
worse. I have wings inside

my cage. But they've grown dull
as I have aged. Quiet days blend
into dark fitful nights. The only
shine is my lamp light. My pen,

my only friend. It's there in the morning
with my coffee. And doesn't speak
back to me. Where I place it is
where it stays. It lies on the table

next to the sunflowers and cable. Fits
like a glove in my hand. Everything goes
as planned. All inside the squares,
in a house with empty chairs.

like a quick rain shower on a summer's
day. Like the crimson leaves when
they catch autumn's breeze. Like
a blanket of snow as the afternoon

sun glows. Like the cornflower
sky when the stars blink their sleepy
eye. Like the emerald grass when
the ice sticks like a body cast. Like a

sweet dream into a morning cup
of coffee and cream. Like a memory
in a picture frame, and the light
from a dying flame. She fades away,

a young girl. Her long hair
short and grey. Her porcelain skin
wrinkled, hanging on a double
chin. Soon too, she will fade like the moon.

falling like monkeys
out of the trees, red, yellow
and orange. Pouring down
on me, a blanket of colored

leaves. Sticking to the sidewalk,
wet from last night's rain. Hanging
like a goblin on the window
pane. Clogging up the

gutters. Dangling like silver
tinsel on my half moon
shutters. Piling up in my backyard
like a mountain of laundry. I rake them

and I bag them. They only fall back
down. I blow them with the electric
blower. And they still come back
around. They're all over my deck and

woven in my hair. They must be
building a nest in there! Swirling
like confetti, they tease.
Leaves! Leaves! Leaves!

a binky in her mouth,
like a mint cigarette, hoping
******* on the rubber ******
will quiet her down just

a little. She's a prickly opuntia,
an irascible radical, a fanatical
sphere. You cannot soften her
blow by closing the window. She'll

rise through the floorboards
towards you as you slumber. Ride
you like a four-wheel Hummer,
leaving tracks on your back. No

escape. She'll squash you in rhinestone
stilettos like a concord grape. Turn you
into crimson wine. Drink you up with
a plastic plate of roasted swine.