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5h · 23
I'm Blue
as a slate sky
caught in a v-formation
of geese flying by
storm clouds surrounding me
as I float in a breeze
of unanswered whys

I’m blue
as the midnight sea
ain't no light
at the bottom
just a dessert of organisms
and darkness fills
this square prism

I’m blue
as blueberry pie
cut into pieces
served to men
I hate
till all that’s left
are crumbs on a plate

I’m blue
as robin eggs
cracked and broken
all the life inside me flown
an empty shell
sits as a stone
‘til you crept up my stairs
and stared at me as if I was
a butterfly landing on your
knee. And you, a flea

dancing in-between the hairs
on my head. I couldn’t shed
you off. You were growing
as Jack’s beanstalk. I hadn’t talked

to a man in years. I spend
my mornings hunched over my laptop
in a straight-back chair. My lines
are flat as the honeysuckle mat

at my front door. None step on
it. It’s quicksand. It ***** you in
and pulls you down into the dirt
cellar of all my troubles. And you’re

not a bottom dweller. No, you’re
a VP. I spilled myself over you,
as if I was perfumed powder snowing
on your shoes. But you were firmly fixed

as the cement poured on my sidewalk
and a house of bricks. Solid as the old oak
standing in my yard. Your face, the moon –
your eyes the stars.
2d · 43
My Heart
is not a rose. I cannot
water it and see it
grow. I cannot pluck it and
place it in a vase/look at
its pretty face.

My heart
is not a kitten, I can
hold in my hands, stroking it,
and have it fall
asleep with a tummy full
of cream into a velvet dream.

My heart
is not the sun. But it burns
me. I cannot
absorb the warmth of a July
day or shine in the light –
my skin is thin but still
covers it in shade.

My heart
is not an apple
I can bake into a pie
and serve it up
with ice-cream on the side.

My heart
is an itch. But I cannot
scratch it. It’s broken
in pieces. But I cannot piece them
back together.  If so, I'd bead them on a string
and wear them all as charms in a bracelet
around my arms.
3d · 324
Every Day's
a leaky faucet
a rolling drip
of stagnant water

Every day’s
a full closet
of drunk dancing skeletons
living on the premises

Every day’s
a parade of jokes
of gangrene limbs
and thick black smoke

Every day's
a masquerade
of storm clouds
covered in marmalade

Every day's
a rollerblade
on a highway to hell
an arcade of
an old witch's spell

Every day’s
Groundhog Day
an endless loop
of the same
4d · 48
I Feel Stupid
putting you on a pedestal
wearing rose-colored glasses
as you rise like a phoenix
from my ashes

I feel stupid
wasting all the years
counting all my tears like a peddler
counts his wares
but couldn’t count on you

I feel stupid
throwing myself at you
making myself crawl
flatten as a paper doll that can’t lift off
the page

I feel stupid
exiguous as a rubber check
a speck on the gilded bed
spread out as eagle wings
clinging as hardened stool
a dusty mule

I feel stupid
sawed off at the knees
fallen as a tree
you holding the axe
I shall not splinter
I'll build a house up from this timber
5d · 50
He Left Her
as a snake
shedding its old, weathered skin
lying on the ground
dust in the wind

He left her
as a butterfly
breaking free of its chrysalis
hanging on a limb
torn and sunken in

He left her
as a baby bird
flying out of its nest
testing its wings
looking for greater things

He left her
as bathwater
sitting in the tub
after he's scrubbed
*****, cold and unloved

He left her
as a piece of paper
after it's written on
crumbled up and tossed
in the trash
in a heap of banana peels
and broken glass
6d · 63
When I Went Over
the things you said
your lines were wrinkles
as an unmade bed. I felt *****
and unclean as unwashed sheets
and I slept in them as a mother hen
laying on her eggs
till they cracked
and the yolks ran out
in a yellow river

When I went over
the way we were
I was drained as the sand
in an hourglass. The more I poured
myself into you the less of me
I spilled over you as sweet perfume
now I'm an empty bottle
sitting on the dresser
covered in the dust of us

When I went over
everything I lost
you were debris blowing
in the wind
catching in my eye
making me blind
a cyclone spinning
till I crashed
and splintered
you can hang your hat
on my jagged splinters
when your day’s an empty page
and your pen runs out of ink
and it doesn’t matter
you can’t think of day without me

What’s it going to be like
when the only thing crossing your doormat
is the leaves blowing off the trees
and the only sound you hear is the wind
whistling in the air

What’s it going to be like
when it cuts you like a knife
in the middle of a dark dank night
and you can’t sleep
the sheep you're counting
are ripped apart by wolves

What’s it going to be like
when the swivel chair stands still
and the grill in your backyard turns cold
no steak's sizzling on the bone
and your phone is silent as a graveyard
but my ringtone plays in your head
like the grateful dead

What’s it going to be like
when you string the cranberries on the tree
without me threading the needle
and the turkey lost the stuffing
no apple pie baking in the oven

What's it going to be like
when the only conversations
are the men and woman on your tv
your arms only hold your pillow
the only thing that brushes your skin
is a razor blade every morning
Oct 9 · 48
I Packed my Rage
in a suitcase
sent it out to sea
so, it wouldn’t agitate me
thought the balmy air
and palm trees make it cool
but it didn’t fool it at all

I packed my rage
in an icebox
closed it airtight
so, it set on ice
thought it chill
but still, it’s fiery hot

I packed my rage
in the attic
sealed it in a box
told it “Get lost"
but it fought to break out
and I’m faced with
the same rout

I packed my rage
in the recycling bin
along with the tin cans
and plastic bottles
to salvage
but it landed as regret
now I carry it as a debt
Oct 8 · 67
Do You Wear Hurt
as a clown
with a red smile
and make-up
a trick or two
to shake up
you from feeling down

Do you wear hurt
as a cloud
grey and pouring rain
making puddles
from the pain
you splash in
take a bath in

Do you wear hurt
as a lion
roaring loudly
pouncing on unsuspected prey
digging in claws
biting with jaws into the flesh
of the day

Do you wear hurt
as a tea kettle
simmering on the stove
till the heat underneath
makes you blow off steam
and you turn leprechaun green
Oct 7 · 448
When Silence
knocks
at your door
do you let it in
to take a seat
telling it to wipe its feet
or do you leave it outside
in the cold rain

When silence
bowls
you over
do you scream in its face
and chase it as a child
running with a net to catch
a butterfly
or do you leave it there
to die

When silence
bites
your tongue
do you swallow the blood
of a million things
that flood your head
or lay it out
as the quilt
on your grandma's bed
Oct 6 · 69
The Same
rose
with soft petals
smelling sweet
cuts you with razor thorns
till you bleed

The same
sun
shining brightly
in the azure sky
burns you in no time

The same
tree
growing crimson, golden leaves
and canopies all around you
detaches and grows bare
in the cold autumn air

The same
lips
spreading moist, warm kisses
mouths off to you lies
the same
arms
holding you in the night
flail at you
the same
hand
cupping a pretty face
curls into a fist
and hits you like a ton of bricks
Oct 5 · 36
It Only Takes
a second
to lift up the lips into a smile
a smile
to light up someone's day
someone's day
you've made happy

It only takes
a thought
to make a plan
a plan
set into motion
to have a dream

It only takes
a hand
to plant a seed
a seed
to grow a tree
a tree
to fill a forest
a forest to become a home
to roaming animals

It only takes
a dropped cigarette
to create a spark
a spark to ignite a fire
a fire
to burn down a forest
a burned forest to ****
all the animals
Oct 4 · 37
I Once Was
an apple
round and green
hanging on the tree
you picked me
and took a bite
discarding my core
you took as you did
and didn’t want more

I once was
a tissue
soft and light
lying in a brightly colored box
nestled with the others on top
you pulled me out
wiped up the crud
leaving me stained
and useless –
a dud

I was once
a rainbow
violet, blue, red, green
orange and yellow
an arch in the azure sky
you crossed me
painting me black
and not looking back

I once was
a thought
that floated in the reverie
of a man's head
golden as the sunset
mellifluous as a song
warm as a bubble bath
till his head filled
with dates and numbers
headlines and lunch
and I was snuffed out
as a candle in the wind
my light dimmed
Oct 3 · 23
I Relied on You
as the golden sun sets in
a fiery red sky relies on
the pale moon to rise. But you
covered me in shade as you
galloped off in a harried scoff
as a headless horseman.

I relied on you
as the grass does the rain
to grow, and the rose bud to
blossom. But you pelted shards
in my backyard flooding me
with flotsam till I drowned.

I relied on you
as the tide rolls into
the shore, with all the treasures
of the sea galore. But you spit out
debris, leaving me with broken
bottles that cut my feet as I walked
on the beach.

I relied on you
as the apple tree does
to bear fruit. But you were filled
with holes.
Oct 2 · 72
I Gave You
my pieces
aged and shattered
and all that mattered
was for you to hold them
in your hands
but you crushed them
as shells on the beach
and they fell –
powder at your feet

I gave you
my heart
weak and bruised
and all that mattered
was for you to place it next to yours
but it grew tattered
as a shirt in your closet
from moths
hanging on the wire in the dark
holey and sags
making red rags to dust off your seat

I gave you
my wings
battered and broken
hoping to fly again
but you cut my feathers
and scattered them
as ashes in the smoky air
blowing in the hot wind
pelting sleet in the heat
I’d give you flowering cherry
blossoms, dancing diamond lakes
and baby robins. I’d give you cornflower
skies and warm apple pie.

If I could give you a day
I’d give you honey meadows and
singing larks, stardust kisses
in the dark. I’d give you bubbling streams
and waterfalls. But that’s not all….

If I could give you a day
I'd make it a novel one, as a baby first screams
as she thrusts out her lungs, pushing out
into this world fast as a shotgun.

If I could give you a day
I’d give you today wrapped up
in silk and bows. That's all I have. I put
yesterday out with the trash. I took all I
could of it/recycled the memories that served
me/ let go of the ones that burned me.
Sep 30 · 27
I’m a Wounded Child
sandra wyllie Sep 30
walking around in an adult's body pained
from men and women that were put on
this earth to protect me, at the least respect
me. Black and blues fade. Scabs grow over

cuts with new skin. But the scars hid inside are
as stars in the night sky. None can see the monstrosity
of their size with only naked eyes. The growth that is
measured at school in feet and test scores ignores

the pygmies of a rose in a ****** glove. None count
the teardrops or sleepless nights, holding onto goose
feathers stuffed in a pillow. Head hung down as a weeping
willow. They'll fit you for a bra. But not fit you in their

hearts. They'll make plans for you. But you can't
plan on them. They look at you as a music box that shuts off
off when they close the lid. Then the little ballerina stops
dancing on her pole.
Sep 29 · 47
Blue Eyes
sandra wyllie Sep 29
laughing in the snow
dancing in the rain
swirling in the wind
as a weathervane

Blue eyes
walking in the meadow
lying in a bed of purple flowers
caught in a reverie
wiling away the hours

Blue eyes
no one sees her pain
weeping in her hands
bluer than sapphires
deeper than the deep blue sea
standing in the fires of the evening

Blue eyes
no one hears her cries
as the church bells ring
out steps a wedding bride
smiling in the rain
every raindrop is a teardrop
running down her face
laughing at the crowd
she turns her back again
Sep 28 · 20
My Shadow, My Friend
sandra wyllie Sep 28
you follow me down
the darkest streets
through alley ways
and dusty roads –
wherever I go

you are an inky silhouette
hung on the wall –
a lighted cigarette that has *****

you are a serving attendant,
my Siamese twin. As I end -
you begin

I've wept on you as a rain shower
and screamed at you for growing in the chinks
my, wallflower

you were the only woman
with me from the beginning
and you'll be the only friend
I have till the end

we'll hold on tight and illuminate
the desert skies
eating from dust bowls
with silvery lips and painted red toes
Sep 27 · 38
Why did I Hold On
sandra wyllie Sep 27
for so long when it's clear
as a diamond that you
were not shining? I'm the looking glass
you cut. You did not like the picture I held up.

Why did I hold on
to the delusion that you were seeing
stars when you were
snoozing as my scars were bleeding
shards that ripped me apart.

Why did I hold on
to the years that melted
as a snowman into a puddle
on the ground that spread around
my feet? All that’s left is
a carrot on a stick you’ve burned
as a wick.

Why did I hold on
when holding on pains me
so? I just couldn’t let you go, as if
I'd let go of myself in the letting you out.
Sep 26 · 37
I’m a Loose Thread
sandra wyllie Sep 26
that’s unraveled. You’ve treated me
as gravel, walking all over me. Threadbare
from years of wear. I’m unhitching from
you pulling my stitching. Piling up

on the floor in a heap. I was so cheap. I'm a
masterpiece of falling leaves. The golds are sharp
as swords. The reds have bled their silvery heads
into a matador. And the amber can see the bull

from the tips of the trees. All my colors swirl
into a ghost of a little girl. I'll sew her back again
without the help of a dicky friend. And she'll float
in a paper boat over the horizon -

surprising all of you that said she was unglued!
Sep 25 · 28
Enjoy
sandra wyllie Sep 25
the light child. Darkness will
fall soon. And you’ll be old
as the pale moon.

Enjoy
the warm breeze and golden
sunflowers. Soon the leaves will
fall from the trees and they’ll be
snow showers.

Enjoy
running and flying your kite with
your friend.  Soon the air will not
move. And your friend will move
on. You’ll be holding the string
dragging your kite on the lawn.

Enjoy
picking the bright red apples,
filling your basket to the top. The apples
will drop and rot on the ground. The tree
will be barren as the land. And your basket
empty as your hands.

Enjoy
the robin splashing and
sipping water from your birdbath. Soon
the water will turn to ice, just as the men
in your life.
Sep 24 · 41
You were the Tack
sandra wyllie Sep 24
tucked in my tire. I drove for miles
with you pushing your barb through
my ribs. ******* air out of my
treads. Now I’m flat as unleavened bread.

You were the pebble
stuck in my shoe, cutting into me
with every step I took. You found
a nook to set up shop. I couldn't
walk without you digging into the *****,
making it swollen and red. Ripping it
to shreds like two cats fighting on the bed.

You were the splinter
that snuck in my hand. You landed as an airplane
under the skin and infected me. Lumpy
and itchy as poison ivy. A rash that can’t subside.  I ooze
like a pimple poked in the middle covering my face
like the tide.
Sep 23 · 45
You’re in my Head
sandra wyllie Sep 23
And that’s where you’ll stay,
sitting in a nest of hairspray. Drifting in
and out of reverie, not down here
on earth with me.

You’re in my heart
And that’s where you’ll remain,
pumping blood through
the blue/red veins, not here
held in my arms, where our hearts
can beat in unison.

You’re in my soul
And that’s where you’ll shine,
bright as the twinkling stars
that have me blind. The horizon is
flat, and falls off the edge as a cat
in a tree. Without your breath
I can’t breathe.
sandra wyllie Sep 22
as the crumbled leaves
after they loosen from
the autumn trees. They melt
into the earth. In the spring
bud's bloom. And June brides’ waltz
down the aisles.

When it's over let it lie
as a snowflake on your face. It'll dissolve.
And you won't feel the cold cling. The robin
sings again my friend, at winter's end.

When it's over let it lie
as the April showers
making a puddle for the blue jay
to splash in. As the golden sun winks at you
she'll sip the puddle through a paper
straw. And your feet won't get wet as you
step lively down the street. You'll cross
the rainbow bridge that rose from the brokenness
you burned. But don't look back as you turn.

When it's over let it lie
as the cockles in July on a sandy
beach. Don't reach out
to yesterday. Don't get swept up
in the wind of an old fling.
Sep 21 · 131
It Hurts
sandra wyllie Sep 21
to see
the golden sun rising
over the horizon
shining yellow rays
on another day
of my dark pain
if it only rain
the sky would weep with me
and I'd have company

It hurts
to hear
the warble of the starling
calling to his darling
as I'm screaming in silence
without a bouncing echo
burning up the night
climbing the walls
like a gecko
if only it would hush
I wouldn't feel like slush

It hurts
to touch
garnet grains of sand
I feel as if my life
is slipping through my hands
I'd place it in a hourglass
so, I would see every ruddy granule pass
as the mountain grows
a dusty crimson rose
Sep 20 · 28
I Could Cry
sandra wyllie Sep 20
me a river that flowed to the sea
could cry in my cup for eternity
cry until the sun burns the earth
till every baby’s birth has seen
them grow old as the mountains
painfully stinging cold as the snow
and you’d sit and shake your head
as if you can’t grasp a thing I said

I could cry
me a thick ink sky
shooting a billowing black cloud
as the octopus
punching my fists in the air
my tears so jagged
they cut down the trees
and you’d take umbrage at my pain
as if I turned your glitter into lead
poking holes in your made-up bed

I could cry
out splinters
cutting my eyes
til the bloods spill
into all your lies
and you’d lay drenched
in a pool of red
standing as a blade of grass
till I passed over you like a mower
as if this could make the pain
move slower
Sep 19 · 68
He Doesn't Know
sandra wyllie Sep 19
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
Sep 18 · 62
You Draped the Sun
sandra wyllie Sep 18
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.
sandra wyllie Sep 17
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
Sep 16 · 58
The Two-Legged Animal
sandra wyllie Sep 16
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.
Sep 15 · 41
You Speak
sandra wyllie Sep 15
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.
sandra wyllie Sep 14
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?
Sep 13 · 76
One Too Many
sandra wyllie Sep 13
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
races
clogging up
my arteries
with grease
greasy lies
greasy smiles
greasy hands on the dial
I’m moving out
for a while
sandra wyllie Sep 12
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 · 81
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 · 26
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 · 45
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 · 57
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 · 437
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 · 44
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 · 205
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 · 63
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 · 184
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.
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