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18h · 44
He Doesn't Know
geometry, chemistry
or history. He looks at picture
books. Doesn’t know many words. But he
can sing songs he’s heard. Doesn’t know

world affairs or politics. He skips
stones and plays sticks. Doesn’t know how to
read the paper, or how to tip the waiter. But he can
pull a kite on a string. He can run and laugh

in the wind. He doesn't know guns shoot
bullets. His guns are plastic and only squirt
water. Doesn't know how to clean his
clothes. Rolls in mud as an otter/rides on

the teeter-totter. He doesn't know about masks
and latex gloves. He only knows kisses and
hugs. He doesn't know about ***/hasn't smoked
a cigarette. Doesn't know about beer in a can. Only knows

bears roam the land. He doesn't know about taxes
or work, how to drive a car or the neighborhood
bar. He doesn't know how some men are venomous,
or how not to trust. If I didn't know better/ I'd say
he is the smartest man ever.
For my son Alex
in your lies
and cunning tongue. I live
my life out in the shade,
dark and cold. The night grows old,
and morning doesn’t spring up
as a buttercup.

You split the moon
with your black, thick fist
giving it a fat lip. Now it drips
blood. I’m covered in red from
my toes to my head.

You packed the stars
in a mason jar,
and threw it in the sea
with your lethargy. Now the only light
is on the ocean floor. But I can’t reach it
with boat and oar.
hit me hard
hanging me from a rope tied to a tree
as a Piñata of blue, purple, and red
till all the sweet in me
spills and spreads
and the boys and girls run to pick up
the flying candy
I’ll die as a cavity in their teeth

shatter it in smithereens
exploding the pieces as a potato
in a microwave
so, my bits stick to the sides
in a mushy yellowy resin
I’ll die in a potato heaven

If you’re going to break my heart
pin me down as a frog
on a tray
as I lay split me open
pulling out my organs
starting with the heart
and ending with the lungs
serve my legs in a cuisse de grenouille
with a chunk of brie
I’ll die a delicacy
has his head held high up
in the clouds. He doesn't have humility
like the ones walking on four feet. They don’t
carry a briefcase or phone. They roam

the forest and scrounge the land/not eating
out of someone’s hand. The call of the wild is
the call of the free. The day is young as it
is light. And the night shines bright as the silver

moon. No schedules/plug-in things or
blether. Treading on acorns, leaves and
feathers. The filters are the trees. And the only hot air
is a breeze. They hunt to live/not live to hunt. I’d like
to have my life unrushed and sleep in the brush.
4d · 26
You Speak
in golden harpsichords.
But the lines
are splintered boards.

You Speak
in bubbling champagne.
But the rhymes
clog up my drain.

You speak
in sparkling diamond dew.
But the jingle
is leftover stew.

You speak
in orange, crimson blossoms.
But the refrain
lie dead as possums.

You speak
and the notes flow like a song
to the dance of Paris, France.
And I ‘d like to believe you.
The chorus is beautiful.
But you never follow through.
the size of the kitchen sink. Now I trudge
with every step instead of smoothly slink. Bending
from the weight pushing down on me I can’t see
straight. I see perpendicularly. It makes my gait

wobbly. So exhausted I can't sleep.  Every turn
I take the boulder barrels as a jeep, leaving tracks
upon my sheets. Run over by black lies and
used to bes I weep blood-soaked drops hard as

lollipops that break my teeth. The sun's a nun
that has to preach.  But this boulder only smolders
making me vexatious to reach. The landslide that is I
has blocked every street. This mountain has crumbled

at my feet. Today the streetcleaners sweep up
the rubble. How did this chip grow into a boulder? Or is
that I'm older I sunk in the debris?
6d · 50
One Too Many
dead end roads
in this town
one-way streets
climbing weeds
the air thick
as black-eye peas
sidewalks uneven
pretty soon
I’ll be leaving

One too many
masked faces
clogging up
my arteries
with grease
greasy lies
greasy smiles
greasy hands on the dial
I’m moving out
for a while
it is my line to walk. You can
chalk it up to rebelliousness. I'm not
the next Eliot Ness. It'll strike a chord
in you for branding my own new. I've tried

to go straight; but it's overrated. In fact,
it left me constipated. I have more room
off to the sides. I'm like a rubber plant. I bounced
up to the light/not a tin soldier with arms

and chest sewn on tight. Like an adventitious root
I spread and sprawl. But as a creeper I find myself
climbing up the walls. Some say I'm a mess of
tangledness. I'm just a **** growing in the cracks/ a train
jumping the tracks.
Sep 11 · 59
I Can’t Hold On
sandra wyllie Sep 11
any more than the leaves
in autumn. As they turn gold
crimson and orange they break off
from the tree and fall.

I can’t hold on
any more than the emerging
butterfly from the safety of
the chrysalis. My budding wings
have spurred me to fly. If I hold on
I'll only die.

I can't hold on
any more than a snake shedding
his old skin. No longer can it stretch
to fit this body. It's thin and worn. And I
can't grow under a cloak with holes. It’d rot
the fibers of my soul.
sandra wyllie Sep 10
that hang by a thread and
whistle. They punch through
the ceiling and swim in the sky,
spraying the clouds with red

dye. Looked on as losers
and frivolous folk they use
their reverie to poke holes in
the sidewalk till it sprouts beans

and Christmas trees with lavender,
the kind that makes those mortal men
slur. Be drunk on innocence of
a star that fell from above.
sandra wyllie Sep 10
in my part of town. The sky is
black, wearing a frown. It spits
its venom of acid rain leaving
a rusty stain of brick red, streaking
the temples of my head.

The sun doesn’t shine
through my window. It billows
a silhouette of horror and
regret, looming over my restless bed.

The sun doesn't shine
on me. I travel by land and sea. But
I'm squashed by an elephant cloud
that trumpets its trunk like a big bass
horn till my spirit's the size of kernels of corn.
a burn out of control
a flame shooting out a hundred stories high
scorching every passerby
all the men I have passed struck the match
some poured the gas
I’m a combustion of dead love

born from a rotten egg
that cracked as it left the tube
smelled of grandpa's *****
curdled as it fertilized with a bent *****
strapped to a straitjacket
an asphyxiated germ

paddled as a ping pong ball
welts the size of Symphony Hall lit the stage
at the ripe old age of thirty-four dad left
to go to a room of painted white walls
and all the women wearing uniforms
and sterile alcohol as perfume
no skin-to-skin touch
the women don latex gloves

men in offices sit in leather chairs
papers in frames hung up
stale coffee in their cup
hand you a slip with scribble on it
tell you it'll fix it quick
the only thing fixed
is the branded mark
smoking black ink chalk
Sep 8 · 16
How Many Times
can you sell me
the same lines? They sound
like music as you say
them. But the music stops,
as I play them back to you.

How many times
can I weep
over a cold, hard stone
I thought once a
pillow? But I lay my head on
a heaving billow.

How many times
can I say you'll turnaround? Only to
the stillness of dead air and the weight
of a fiery glare.
Sep 7 · 31
I Scream in Silence
stout moths. Like
lint they’re flat and fall
off. The fuzzies float in
the air. Man can’t hear them. They’re
dust on the chair.

I weep in silence
black satin rain that pools
in the cracks of my face, leaving
a stain of questions to wear. Man
can’t see them. They’re fog in the square.

I break in silence
pieces of plaster, that chip from
the ceiling creating a bust of alabaster
frozen in expression, that over the years
has not freshen. Man can't touch
the stone. It's dyed to blind their eyes
and cut through bone.
Sep 6 · 52
I Will Burn Bridges
shore to shore
with a big blowtorch
till there no more
lies in my path
they’ll all turn to ash

I will burn bridges
by land and sky
with kamikazes
that I’ll fly
till there’s no more
caustic fuel
spilling out from the mouth
of a mule  

I will burn bridges
that cross into places
I shouldn't go
burning them slow
into the ground
till the fires lights up the black
and sparks of memories
are hacked

I will burn bridges
and then build new
with my hands
laying every plank
as it were seed
and plotting it out
braiding the tweed
Sep 5 · 416
The Worst
sound is silence
when nothing is shared
and nothing is said
it hangs in the air
like someone is dead

The worst
feeling is emptiness
when nothing you do
can fill the lacuna
you're swimming in oil
like a can of tuna

The worst
disease is poverty
when man has not himself to share
he runs from life fast as a hare
taking only himself with him
leaving a trail of dust in the wind
Sep 4 · 32
You Left a Stain
on my heart
big as a train
with track marks
every night I hear
the squeal of wheels
the bells and whistles
the smell of heavy black smoke
exhausted through the stack
of  many hours awake
lying on my back

puff puff puff
chug chug chug
rhythmically tugging
at my heart
the stain's on the window
yellow as cornmeal
wiping my hand over it
I pick up the grit
spit in disdain
and all my juices
the oils, the bloods
turn to suds
and drain
breathing fire as a dragon,
dragging me to places I should not
let myself go. Biting hard, with its
cold, pointed teeth. Kicking me off

my feet. Carrying me as the leaves,
over rooftops and trees. Knocking me flat
on my back. Stomping on me as an
elephant. Dumping its smoky

excrement. Blasting at me
as a hot oven. How can I go on
without any loving? My hair wraps around
my neck, strangling me to death.
Sep 2 · 188
When I was in Need
of a hand
you gave it to me
with all four fingers
bent into the palm
thanks for the punch
in the arm

When I was in need
of a hug
you gave it to me
and squeezed my body
with brute strength
at full length
till I couldn’t breathe
thanks for the bruises
and the blood that oozes

When I was in need
of a man to look up to
you were that man –
after pushing me down
the stairs
I laid in pain and wailed
at the bottom
you walked over me
crushing me as leaves in autumn
you stood at the top
as Mount Kilimanjaro –
thanks for being my hero!
in the woods with the dancing trees
and melodic birds than on the streets
hearing the cutting words of men.

I’d like to be alone
on the shore with the spraying ocean breeze
and the seagulls at my feet
than falling for the same thing again.

I'd like to be alone
by the stream hearing the trickle
of water running over the rocks
than in the presence of fickle men.

I'd like to be alone
atop a mountain looking out
at the azure sky, seeing the eagle
fly with paper and pen.
Aug 31 · 61
You Spit Me Out
sandra wyllie Aug 31
as watermelon seeds. I was
hidden in the flesh of the soft
pink meat. After you ****** me
to the core you threw me on the floor.

You spit me out
as lemon pulp, grimacing
and shaking your head. I was
a soufflé’ in the making. But it wasn’t
worth your undertaking.

You spit me out
as cobra venom, spraying the ground
with droplets of poison in a room
you let the boys in to **** me
of my dignity.

You spit me out
as mouthwash. I was the germ
making you squirm. I swirled
down the drain circling your bacterium
like sharks in a aquarium.

You spit me out
as a *** of gum after you
were finished chewing me out. I was
numb, hard and cold. None like gum
when it's old.
Aug 30 · 155
I Bare my Soul
sandra wyllie Aug 30
and you look through me
as if I’m a ghost, with no skin
or bones, as you drone on, bored
like a skipped needle on a record.

I bare my soul
and your clock says that
it’s time to take a walk/feed the cat.

I bare my soul
on my knees, clutching
my chest. I can’t breathe. I weep
a puddle on your floor. And drown
in it once more.

I bare my soul
as a hurricane. You shake
my hand, leading me out
into the wind and rain. My hair
wraps around my face. Fills in
the space between eyes, nose
and teeth. So, I look like a russet sheath.
sandra wyllie Aug 29
when ******* fists twist
as a drill into the belly of
a handicap man
that's ill.

It’s a poison arrow in the heart
when you can’t erase the bloated gorilla’s
face from your head. Your child
be dead if he wasn’t pulled
off. The scoff on top of it makes
your insides split.

It’s a brain hemorrhage
that no alcoholic beverage
can fix. It makes you sick/rots
your core this attack on
your son from a ******. It pulls
all your triggers.
sandra wyllie Aug 28
of dark clouds hanging over
me. It’s raining black depression
and horror in every corridor. As I walk across
my lawn the grass cuts my feet. Every blade

a steely knife with rows and rows
of teeth. I can’t wait for night when I
can fall asleep to stop the agony. It pains me
when I'm awake. I act mechanically,

as a drone in a swarm of bees. I eat, but
the food is plastic. And it only fills my
stomach with acid. I hear things people

speak. But it does not compute. It’s mangled
as a buffalo after a lion sinks his jaws
in. I look at the day. But the colors
are grey as a seal and have no appeal. I scream in

silence, as if I’m in a padded room. I’m dust you can
sweep up with a broom. My limbs hang
loose. I’m flat as a paper doll you can rip in
a fell swoop. Even the horizon looks rusty and droops.
sandra wyllie Aug 27
or stick the pieces together
with Gorilla glue. A child’s eye
that is black and blue can fade.
But you can’t cover

a mother’s brokenness with
a cloak of tenderness. You can’t
wipe out the horror she saw with a cold
damp cloth. ******* hands on

a handicap man is the devil’s
work. She doesn’t sleep at night. The darkness
in her breast is hard to digest. She’s
losing weight and doesn’t eat. White as

a sheet she walks through her day
in a purple haze. Her life’s a pack of Jacks
thrown into the air, with pointy spikes that cut
like knives. Men are scavenging cockroaches

with belly’s bulging from greed. You can’t sow
the seeds they planted like an old woolen blanket,
than you can sew her heart together like
an unravelling sweater.
sandra wyllie Aug 24
heavy and slow
hard as rigor mortis
lagging and old
carrying it all on my back
the weight of the world
in a gunnysack

solitary as the cold wind
on the prairie
life gushes by me
friends are poison ivy

I tuck myself inside myself
and sit as a stone
as the moon, all alone
reclusive, shy, and diurnal
writing in my journal

dark and grumpy
clawed and bumpy
drinking from a puddle
head in a muddle over my past
snapping at men
as a telephoto lens

if I flew as an eagle
or swam as the dolphin
or ran as the horses
I’d be less obnoxious
Aug 23 · 52
My Passion Bulges
sandra wyllie Aug 23
as a stuffed purse
about to burst at
the seams. I was
so green.

My Passion Bulges
as a toad’s throat,
puffing out after a meal,
like a water-balloon,
with a broken seal –
till it splatters. That’s
when I could feel.

My Passion Bulges
now like a fat man’s
shirt, tightly drawn over
the chest until it hurts, riding up
the flesh and splitting the
buttons. That’s what I get
for being a glutton!
Aug 22 · 63
All You Could Hold
sandra wyllie Aug 22
as a baby was my
index finger. Wrapping
your tiny fingers around it
snug. I fell in-love with

the squeeze of your
touch. I was amazed by
the strength of your
hand, how it curled tightly

like a strand of hair. And your soft
little nails looked so pale. And now
with that same hand you can pick
me up.

When my dear, did you
grow up?
Aug 22 · 68
When Did
sandra wyllie Aug 22
snowballs become a fist
and a pact become a twist
I’m winded by all of this.

When did
differences lead to hate
and myths propagate
Do I wait for man
to understand logic?

When did
leaders mislead
and man have desperate need
for human companionship
I’m worried man worships
the wrong things.

When did
the news become cheap entertainment
this epidemic lose containment
Some politicians need arraignment.
sandra wyllie Aug 21
I’ll dive. My feet are springs
to push me off. My arms are wings
careening me through the air. My eyes
are glares to light the path. If I

fall flat on my face I’ll just roll
to the next place. But I won’t sit still
as a pigeon on the windowsill looking
in the house of life. I’m the howling

wind at night. I’m the gale, the forest
fire. I’ll burn a trail before I retire. I won’t look
back with “ifs” Life is short but tall
on orders. I can jump all their borders. I’m

the bomb! My cocktail is a Molotov,
served straight up, with a twist of
rhyme. And I’ll swing from every line, high
as a string on a kite, crimson and white.
sandra wyllie Aug 20
to earth. Give the man
a wide berth. The crash puts him
in pieces you try to collect. But no
room is left in your pocketbook

of tricks. You picked him
out of the lineup of men. He stood out
as a topiary in a forest of trees. And blew
through your blouse as an ocean

breeze. He painted the rose
on your cheeks. He slipped the glass
slipper on your foot. The bell strikes
the hour in your ivory tower. It rained

ashes the day he fell. The sidewalk
looked like lumps of coal from hell. The pedestal
crashed to the ground. You don’t need
a ladder to climb up to the sky. You can float
on a cloud. . And wave to the passerby’s.
sandra wyllie Aug 20
everything is stark
as night. White is
blinding. And black
falls fast. When you’re on
the pedestal you’re a missile.

In a world with no color
there is no horizon, just a line
that defines them.

In a world with no color
you split into splinters as trees
in the winter. Walking on a ground
of broken glass. Weeping shards
that choke the pass.

In a World with no color
red is rust, blue is dead. And green
has turned to straw. There is no
Aug 19 · 63
At First, I Thought
sandra wyllie Aug 19
you were squishy. And I could
roll you on the floor. But when
I broke you open I found out you
were hard-nosed with teeth that bit
me in the night.

At first, I thought
you were bright, that you illuminated
the sky. Until I found out you were
a forest fire that burned every woman
in his path.

At first, I thought
you were a warm bubble bath
that I could sink into after a
hard day. But the water turned cold
and flat and drained.
sandra wyllie Aug 18
from flower to flower. Flying
like a hurricane in the sun and
rain. Agile and flirty are you
ruby-throated birdy. Your wings

a silk folding fan. Your beak expands
like a pointed sewing needle, dining on
blood-******* mosquitoes. But also
couples as a sword for obstinate

discord. Zipping by and chirping
notes like a skinny thunderbolt. You’re
here and then you're darting like
a serpent in the air. If I blink, you'll disappear
like the days this whole past year.
Aug 17 · 30
Tangled in his Web
sandra wyllie Aug 17
of lies, stuck just as a fly. I broke
my wings on silken strings that felt
velvet to the touch. I fell for him as autumn
leaves fall off the tree, leaving the branches

bare as a broken kitchen chair. Beware
of the rays so blinding. They light up
the sky as lightening. And strike! It rained
splinters, sharp and cold as icicles in winter

the night I uncovered his lies. I cracked
the hive. And all the sugary amber spilled
to the floor. It oozed out of all his pores
into a big mess. I cannot look at him without

seeing his lie. How can I look at the sky
without seeing the clouds puff out
their chests? Without swallowing the grey
sunken in my breast? I'm hot as a summer

sidewalk. You can fry an egg on
my back. I'm taking his lie and planting it
as seeds in the spring when the earth
is soft. The morning dew bathes the blades

from yesterday. I gave his lie
a grave. And out from it blooms macaroons.
Aug 16 · 87
I Just Need
sandra wyllie Aug 16
a branch
to sit in my reverie
not the trunk of the tree
a couples of leaves for shade
as I wade through the day

I just need
a stream
to wet my feet
not an ocean
some rocks to walk across
and cool myself off

I just need
a handful of blueberries
to quiet my rumbling tummy
I’ll leave the lot on the bush
for someone that’s hungry
so, they won't have a rumbling tummy

I just need
a roof
to shield me
from the cold and rain
doesn't matter size or shape
just a place to call home
when I don't need to roam

I just need
a few seconds, my friend
to catch up on things    
not a whole afternoon
it appears a lot to ask
life flies by us so fast

I just need
someone that receives me
not someone that nods their head
at all I said
or refuses to look me in the eye
when we’re not on the same side
Aug 15 · 485
sandra wyllie Aug 15
as the gazelle
swift and graceful
as the rocket frog
blink and take off
as the spider monkey
nimble and free
as the waves in the ocean
make a splash
as the stars
twinkle in the distance
as the sun
every morning
with persistence!
Aug 14 · 52
sandra wyllie Aug 14
as a child
holding the string
of a kite. Run with the wind,
as an albatross about to take
flight. Run as the river flowing into
the lake. Run and run, don’t put
on the brakes. Run as watercolors
in the rain, as the cheetah does in
the open plains. Run and don’t look
back. Be as a train and ride the
track. Run as a waterfall over
the mountain, in a clear crystal
fountain. Run as a baseball player
stealing base. If you’re tired –
don’t stop/run in place.
Aug 13 · 351
Don't Stop
sandra wyllie Aug 13
when they tell you
you can’t sing a note.  From deep
inside your throat sing louder
than the kakapo. Take a breath
and just let go.

Don’t stop
wearing your hair high
as an eagle’s nest. As they laugh
pile on the Aqua Net. If it makes you
happy it’s all that matters. Little people
like to chatter.

Don’t stop
writing poems if you’re not
poet laureate or aren't published
yet. You don’t have to rhyme or fit
the lines in some man’s schema –
Live your life as a dreamer!

Don’t stop
reaching for the stars. Fear makes men
stuck as they are. Do as you do and

Don’t Stop
Aug 12 · 42
He’s the Type
sandra wyllie Aug 12
that has you cut out
the seeds of his watermelon
dust the dirt off the ground
hold the umbrella over his head
so, not a drop can get him wet
every perfect hair in place
the gel completely set
a manicure is next
his calendar is full
you’ll have to take a number
as you do at the deli
his six-pack glistens in the sun
he doesn’t have a belly

the type that doesn't
get a crumb in his moustache
not a crease in his clothes
has his shoes shined every day
on his lapel a pinned rose
drives a Lamborghini
has a yacht in Sicily
jet skis
rose petals inn his bath

the type that doesn’t laugh
sandra wyllie Aug 11
to make them smile
shake my hips
undo the buttons of my top
bat my eye lashes
flash my pearly whites
this girly lives to dance and sing
move to the left
swing to the right
it's hard to be uptight
dancing for my life
take up all the space
don't stand in place
like a mannequin
pluck the strings on the mandolin
music brings us together
you can strum a note
sitting from your chair
you can hum a line
that can part his hair
bare your heart
wear out your soles
do this
and you won't grow old
Aug 10 · 28
I’d like to Melt
sandra wyllie Aug 10
down this rage. It’s growing
for days. It started small as a ping-pong
ball. Then climbed the size of
a watermelon. I smashed it with

a bat. But it grew back. The seeds
rooted in the dirt. Now my rage is big
as the earth. I swallowed the sun and breathed

out fire. I burned man, every coward
and liar. My rage became rampant as a forest
in flames.  A path of collapse none
can tame. My red rage covers the sky

in a ****** blanket of sighs. Now it's pelting
execration. And stands in formation of
every line I pen. It's a blend of bat **** and
cockroaches hidden in nostrils, and dancing
in gritted teeth. A smoldering ember underneath.
Aug 8 · 36
Butterflies Cry
crystal lavender tears
that melt as dewdrops
in honeysuckle fields. They’ve
cried them for years.

Buterflies cry
a kaleidoscope of colors
in patterns of green, blue, red
purple and yellow. They've cried
them over every gal and fellow.

Butterflies cry
in flits of beaming light
that dance in the shadows
of shimmering moonlight. They've cried them
all night.

Butterflies cry
all by themselves, spreading
their wings to cover their felt. Their tears stick
like glitter to all that they touch.

Butterfies cry not often but much.
Aug 7 · 80
I’m Helpless
as a kitten swimming upstream
****** as marionette on a string
lower than the Mariana snailfish
feeding on the ocean floor
When did life become a chore?  

I’m bare
as the trees in winter
colder than an Arctic breeze
sour as Lisbon lemon drops
When did I blow it all out like a sneeze?

I'm lifeless
as a mannequin in a department store window
slower than a tortoise walking a tightrope
falling as the autumn leaves
black as a lump of coal
hung over as the eaves on my rooftop
When is this feeling ever going to leave?
because it doesn’t fit
in the present. It’s old and worn
and spent, as us. Blown in the wind
as dust. It lies on the grass

like a sausage casing, without
the meat and spice. It doesn't have
a life. I weep as I look at it. All the years
I put into it. And now to have it laid. The hardest

part is walking past it.  It lasted as
an elastic stretched beyond the shape
it took on. I pick it up and hold the emptiness
in my hands, and stroke the mold of the

withered band. Memories is all I'll
take. And grow a new skin in
the wake of yesterday, just as the snake  
does. But it's hard to shed this love.
Aug 5 · 52
They See
vultures, not swans. Their eyes
are lumps of coals. They’ve black hearts
and no souls.

They see
woman as little pits. Once they take
the flesh of the cherry they spit out the stone,
flossing their teeth with the stem, waxing their bone.

They see
the world in gnarly
twisted weeds, as red herrings
and blind sheep.

They see
themselves as Swiss cheese,
razor blades and purple haze,
new money and smoke screens,
the lottery, climbing ladders and home teams.
Aug 4 · 40
He’s Painted Black
I’d like to chip off a piece
to see what’s underneath. I think
beyond the gloss he’s white
as a sheet. They stripped him down,

spackled up his cracks, and filled
in his holes. They papered him in red tin soldiers
and vaulting poles. And when the paper yellowed
they rolled on purple paint. Coated it

in arms of an Italian saint. It went with the décor
of hanging wild horses on the wall and cherry
furniture. But spilled ink and perfume raised
the temperature. In darkness things are black.  Don't look

back. The cobwebs hang. I see gray sky,
and think it'll rain.
Aug 3 · 240
She has her Full Beams
on. She’ll blind you
with the light. But when the sky
is tar from the moon spilling Dr Pepper
she’s a flicker, no bigger than a burning

wick from a solitary candlestick. She’s
a greasy pig that isn’t fit for bacon. A soda
can that has the top popped off
after it’s shaken. Her extremes have you

beside yourself., upside-down and
inside-out. But you'll beg for her as a
street drunk asking for money to buy
fifty-proof nips. She'll flip the switch on you

then stick as Elmer's glue, like lint
on your sweater. With all that fuzz you can
make a glove to wear in winter. Then the warm
turns to ice as she splinters. And pokes you

in your eyeball with the shards. She's like
a deck of playing cards. Every shuffle turns up
an ace or a dud.
Aug 2 · 73
Choking on the Stars
Strangled by the wishes
I made.  Mangled by promises.
Wasted on yesterday. All the years
I believed in you. I drowned in the lakes

I dream of you. When you’re
mobile is strung with stars and moons
and you’re sung lullabies you can't separate
the truth from lies. There’s not a star

that shines. The moon placed shades
on the sun. And made braids with the blades
of grass, so there’s bare patches as I walk.
Big enough to sit in. Deep enough to sink in.
Aug 2 · 65
Will you Read Me
when my head is stretched out
rolling in your hands? Or will you pull back
so, that I snap as a rubber band, landing
in your trash can?

Will you read me
when I line myself as a V like a flock of geese
flying above? Or will you run from
the droppings of love?

Will you read me
when your eyes are glazed
in honeydew? When your cup of coffee
is thick as stew and sticks to you
as the deodorant in your armpits?

Will you read me
when I’m carrion and the vultures
are circling? Or will you throw everything I wrote
in the flames, to heat your home –
on paper notes?
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