he wore
hollowed me out
as an apple core. Pushing
and twisting, leaving

a hole in the middle,
like an enigma, a puzzle
or riddle. The color chestnut
turning to ash. I rise to the sky,

fall and crash.  I cannot
sleep with stranger eyes
in my bed. The body dance
is flat and dead. The pitch is low

and sunk. Who is the man with
stranger eyes I married? The one
who carried me over the threshold
of our home.  Bands of

gold now tarnished black. Sitting
like a sack of potatoes. Should I smash
him or cook him alfredo? The mirror
hanging over the dresser is in pieces

of broken glass. When I pass
the shards still glued to the frame
the woman I see is not the same. She
wears stranger eyes too, in cobalt blue.

and where he lives
his favorite color cobalt
blue, the bars he'd visited,
and the few women he went

there with. I know his breathing
when he sleeps is uneven and
the secrets that he keeps. Because
he talks in his sleep. I know

the musk he wears, and
that he hasn't underwear in his
bedroom drawers, just a bunch of
mismatched socks. I know the

pounds he can bench, his favorite
food, Indian. And who he voted for
president. I know his name. But today
as he walked by he didn't stop or say hi.

before you say something that’ll hurt.
Don’t blurt it out in insults
that cannot be taken away
even with an apology.
People remember their history.
Scars of words past said
have become my suit of armor.
It’s made me hard, not softer.
I cannot hold you close
in a body of chains and metal.
Like a tea kettle letting off steam
I burn you in my every scream.


STOP
and take a breath
before you do something
you’ll regret.
A good night’s sleep will
clear your head.
Take those ugly thoughts
to bed.

STOP
before you do something rash
something that cannot be taken back.
If it cannot be undone
Better that it not begun!!

smiles
than frowns.
A little more
Building me up
than putting me down.
A little more listening
than offering advice.
Wouldn’t **** you
to try to be nice!
A little more gratitude
than complaints.
It’s all in the attitude!
We’re humans not saints.
A little more forgiveness
and holding less grudge.
God, and not you
is the final judge.
A little more love
than hate.
Life is too short.
Why would you wait?

painted black, white and
yellow. In a struggle with
herself. Hunting for her next
meal, scraping by on scraps of

bones and *** appeal. Not a lap to
lay her head or a four-post queen
size bed. Ears sticking out
like pegs, not the type that humps

men's legs. Scouring the scene,
hungry and lean. Living life on
razor's edge. She cannot be
domesticated. Her eyes are wide,

pupils dilated. Likes the chase,
grassland and plains, the open
space. Wind whipping like cream through
tangled hair, danger lurking in the air.

with a stiletto, the **** of her
jokes. And like her cigarette, smashed
into the ground. In a flash, turned to ash
from her smoky breath. Crushed like

a plum tomato in the sauce. I learned
quickly she was boss. Crushed like ice in
her drink, slivers of the rock I was. Melting
in a frosty mug. Like a tin can she

ran over me with an electric mower that had
teeth. I was dented with sharp edges, thrown into
the neighbor's hedges. Like an old car piled high
in the junk yard. Folded up like an accordion

after years of Freudian therapy. My Dreams,
crushed rose petals and scattered  like leaves
in the potpourri. Stuffed inside a bedroom
drawer, lost between the underwear and socks.

like pancakes on a plate
drowning them in maple syrup
till I ate them all. My belly
ache! Or If I stack her pain like

dollar bills I'd fill my office like
a bank. And she'd thank me. Then we'd
take the stacks and blow them at the
mall. Or I'd stack them on the wall

in wooden frames so they can
be contained.   I'd pile them up
like colored blocks and knock them
down like bowling pins and score

a strike so she can win. If her pain
were bricks I'd stack them one on
the other till I build us a home on a grassy
knoll. And we'd live in it till we grew old.