Is there too much piling on your plate?
Is the time for you growing late?
Think you're never going to set things straight?
All You have to do is wait.

Troubles seem to inflate.
I know the strain of all that weight.
You mustn't let that dictate.
All you have to do is wait.

Don't let something seal your fate.
I've come to know and appreciate
that in due time all things shall abate.
All you have to do is wait.

Patience is such a virtuous trait.
When things aren't looking so great
remember that it's never to late!
All you have to do is wait.

Don't allow your ego to deflate.
Don't fill up on foolish hate.
The solution is yours!  You alone can create.
All you have to do is wait.

are sharp spikes
velvet stiletto shoes
walking towers of jagged blues
digging up holes with my sole

My edges
are rotating arrows
like a weathervane
my pain spinning in the wind
under a cornflower sky
but not getting off
sitting like a ****
not able to fly

My edges
are four pointed corners
of a square
so, I don't roll like a stone
I pose in the air

My edges
are colored fringe
decorating the outside
as I unhinge

I spend all my days
and nights with. I curl up
on the couch with. My ocean
fleece blanket is a pouch

which I wrap my body in. It's
my cocoon on a rainy
afternoon. This blackened
silhouette burns me like

a smoking cigarette, enshrouds
me in a fog, as I lay sleeping like
a log. Dancing pirouettes in
my crimson cotton sweats, with

a book between my hands,
a ***** and lime sitting on the
nightstand. I have no plans. I like to
doze till twilight hits my toes.

he has fangs
and not teeth? He has
scales and not bangs.

Couldn't she see
he hasn't legs? He slithers
on his belly. And was hatched
from an egg!

Couldn't she see
his pupils are slitted
and cannot dilate or
contract? He'll outgrow her
like his skin once she’s wrapped
up in him. And then he’ll leave her flat.

Couldn't she see
his tongue is split
at the tip like a fork? And in
one little kiss she'll be slabs
of salt pork.

her song as perfume
like a garden in full bloom.
Sweet as the lilac trees,
in a warm embracing breeze.

She spilled
her long honey hair
like a waterfall
all over him,
his face and his limbs.

She spilled
her creamy *******
like a bird's nests,
out from her tight dress.
The color of robin's eggs-
Blue.
Then she flew.

She spilled
her teardrops
like a rain shower,
in a large paper cup.
Then she drank
it all up.

falling through square holes,
a rain shower of brown.
Sifting through/seeing it pour down.
Looking for the golden

nugget. But all I'm collecting
are rocks in my purple bucket.
Grey stones bouncing in a circle
plastic mesh, as the sun is whistling

hot, burning out my flesh.
Waves crashing to the shore,
like a stoner strung on ****.
All this for not!

I exhale on my next
breath.

like the carcass of a duck.
Sans feathers before the roasting.
Man pouring champagne in a red neck flute,
toasting his capture and making me mute.

I was plucked
like a woman's brow.
Tweezed till I was extracted.
Men were distracted in shaping me.
Thinning me out like garden of weeds.

I was plucked
like ukulele strings
to make beautiful music
out of all my suffering.
Strumming my thumb on mahogany,
sweet as a baby wallaby.

I was plucked
like blueberries off the shrub.
Dropped in a tin pail
took home and scrubbed.
I was a tasty snack.
But after you're plucked
they can't put you back.

the day I was born
cut from the red ****** cord
that nourished me
cut like a hanging branch
sawed off the maple tree

I was shorn
like the green grass
in spring
before my time
of flowering
didn’t stand an inch to grow
every weekend
I was mowed

I was shorn
like wool's sheep
on the old man's farm
skirted, rolled and bagged
blind, naked and sagged

I was shorn
of the skin I’ve worn
all my life
shed it like a snake
at night
grew a new birthday suit
didn’t iron out
the wrinkles
learned to dress
finessed in crinkles

the bird outside
my window, the chattering
blue jay as he ***** from
branch to branch. And the cranch
of the squirrel breaking
acorns with his teeth, turning it
with his claws beneath my stairs.
The buzzing bee dancing circles
around the azalea. If I only lived
in Australia! And the neighbor's
kids racing their scooters down
the street while I'm trying to watch tv,
as my poetry sits quietly on the coffee
table gathering dust. And the cable box
is playing a nature show as I doze
to the splashing of the orca. There goes
another day down the drain.

was the last time
he was going to make me
bleed. Every step forward I was
walking barefooted on broken
glass. Every breath inhaled in his
field of wheat was gas.

The last time
I couldn't handle
his contempt. Exhausted from
my attempt to reach him. I was
just a leech swimming in the reeds
of a muddy lake, wrapping around
his foot like a creeper. Kicking me
off like a smelly old sneaker.

The last time
I was this small
I'd no body hair and crawl
on my mother's yellow diamond
tiled floor heading out
her kitchen door.

The last time
I saw his moon head and
tomato red face he was facing away
from me, barking like a mangy
dog up a tree. I slogged turning
a corner, hearing this heart murmur for
the last time.

pelting rain
you're soaking wet. No umbrella.
Cold water seeping through your chest.
You're not dressed for this
weather. Your hair looks like a rat,
flat and sticking to the wrinkles
on your face. You shiver to the bone
all the way home.

Just because it stopped
blowing 137 knots. You fought it
off. But the hurricane left a wreckage
of debris, downed houses, buildings
and trees. The neighbors
forced to flee.

Just because it stopped
them from calling you names
it didn't ***** out the flame. The rage
gutted you inside. They burned your
skin alive.

woven red organza silk
dewdrops of mother's milk
riding bronco over bumps
cherry lips eating up her lumps

She's Diaphanous
crystal blue water
a playful, squirming swimming otter
diving up and down/ in and out
for a meal of rainbow trout

She's Diaphanous
splintered pieces of glass
refracting light in a pass
a prism of dancing color
to only shine, not make duller

She's Diaphanous
rose petal shower curtains
mellifluous as Richard Burton
a feathered peacock in the light
bubbly as a can of sprite

even if he wears pants
and walks upright
upstairs in his head
there is no light

He's not a man
even if he has ****** hair
and shaves his hedge
or grows a beard
he lives on razor's edge

He's not a man
even with hanging *****
notches on his bed
he doesn't care
he's in the red

He's not a man
even though he pays taxes
golfs on Sunday
holds a college degree
look at Ted Bundy

intense
burning mid-day sun
blistering his skin
leaving him tail-spun

She was too
splintered
jabbing at his arms
too many winters
putting out alarms

She was too
needy
taking all his time
greedy
a woman in her prime

He was too
old
to play around
but men cannot be told
and he'd not slow down

with just myself. Lying in a red hammock
curled up under a cornflower sky, with a book
to read as a cardinal flies by.  Or walking
in the woods among the ferns and the trees

I find tranquility. The chattering song of
the jay, the stillness of a breaking day. Women are
critical and glib, drooling like babies wearing
a bib. Green- eyed and petty. Raining on me

like colored confetti. Friendship is overrated,
leaving me lonely and weighted. The babbling
of a brook I'll take than that of a woman. Time is
a gift not to squander. Thoughts are words

to sit and to ponder. Women spread them like
strawberry jam, rolling out of their mouths
like a broken dam. Like the sun and the moon
I'm a solitary man.

like a poached egg,
dripping yolk upon her
plate. Painting the plate gold,
like the yellow from a rainbow,
till she’s tossed in the dishwasher
with the folks, knives and saucers.

She's Runny
like a nose drooling
from a cold. Dabbing the tip
with a cotton handkerchief,
till her sniffer looks like a clown’s
fire-engine red and round.

She's Runny
like a watercolor bleeding
in the rain. Swirling blue,
purple and green before she's
time to set. She's ugly,
when she's wet.

She's Runny
like mascara
in black rivulets on
her face from weeping
like the clouds. She looks
like a racoon in the middle
of the afternoon!

painted candy apple red
with hinges and doors
and all the décor a jeweler
can make. Strung with pearls;

a smooth oval, standing on
painted golden legs. Not to  
touch. I easily break.
Not to be held. It'll dull

my shine. In a glass house
next to a crystal decanter of
cherry wine. Sitting on a shelf,
the one the furthest from

the sunshine.With the tip
of a finger you can flip my
top. Underneath is a diamond,
a treasure trove, a work of art!

like icicles on my nose. Hanging
jagged with pointed tip, so sharp
they cut my lower lip.  They rusted
from sitting outside in a paper

cup. I held them up
to the sun. It's years since
they've run like a river
down my face. They baked

in place like the cheese
souffle. Hardened like a ball of
clay. Then cracked into lines
I pen. My ink is wet. Better it than them.

a collection of spices,
rose petals, and orange rinds,
mixed in a bowl. We smell sweet,
but we’re dried and old. We look

pretty, my lavender and your
red berries. But we are caged
like two canaries. We had our days
before we were plucked, skinned

and shucked. Was I the one that
wanted more than to be bagged and
stored in your bedroom drawer? Sachets
tied with purple ribbons, only to sit

with misgivings and pairs of your
Argyle socks. Not plated on the bone
China like bagels and lox. Just tossed
together like yesterday’s slops.

is a nest
full of stinging hornets. I wear
the welts like notches in her
draw of belts. Large red bumps
from all she's lumped on me,
making my head a knotted tree.

Her tongue
Is a stiletto
born in the ghetto,
slicing right through me
like a roll of salami. As she bears
down her knife I grow smaller
with every slice.

Her tongue
is a revolver
shot out of her mouth
in rounds. I cannot absolve her
of the crime. Words are weapons
bleeding through me all the time.

from where you are,
If you're standing in a forest
of trees, far as you can see
everything looks emerald green.

If you’re sitting in a plane
high above the ground
what you'll see drifting by
are cotton ***** of clouds.

If you’re a vampire
your days are charcoal black.
You’ll not know the warmth
of the sun shining on your back.

You think from all you know.
A two-year-old is the center
of his world. He hasn't aged.
But give him time; he'll grow.

You think from how you're treated.
If you've been beaten by the hand
that feeds you you'll wear your scars
like stars on a flag, and see life
as a drag.

You think from where you live.
A fish hasn't breathed the air
or soared in a cornflower sky.
He'll not know what it's like to

have the wind whipping through
his feathered wings like the eagle
when he flies. He doesn't sing  
a melodic song like the oriole.

All he sees is the sea
for miles and miles. He swims and
eats and mulls. Or is swooped up
by the sharp beak of the gulls.

word
dropping a letter
she can't
she didn't
she met her wall

Broken
pledges
falling off ledges
smashing the pavement hard
living in a house of cards
Joker
roll her/smoke her shards

Broken
pieces
chipping off every day
flaking like a *******
try not to smack her

Broken
woman
will break you

Broken mirror
splitting up your face
shards of what you are
the you you cannot chase

Broken
You
Breaks up all the lines
the rules
drinking cherry wine

Broken
Down
Build
Back up

they say
it isn't you.
Words are hair spray.
Don't let them stick in your head.
Don't give them power!
Wash their dirt off in the shower.

No matter what
they do
it isn't you.
It's their projection,
in the glass.
Their own reflection,
as they pass.

No matter what
they spread,
it isn't you.
Their rumors
are twisted tumors.
Don't let them grow.
Radiate!
And then they'll slow.

No matter what
they are
it isn't you.
They're jealous
because you follow
your own rules.
You make your own plans.
You take a stand.
They sit with their distraction,
watch and take no action.

were autumn leaves. From a snap
of cold turned golden yellow
to mud brown, twisting off
falling to the ground.

Her colors
bled out in a wink
from the wash, the crimson red
to salmon pink. From bright to
dull, the sort you didn’t cull.

Her colors
peeled like an orange rind
as she was sectioned. Men
chewed her up and spit out
the seeds.

Her colors
chipped standing
in the sun. She's brittle. Flaking
she'd whittle into dust. Flying
off in a flurry.

Her colors
cracked. Someone
took an axe and hacked
her walls.

her tongue.
She spews words out!
She's so high-strung.

She doesn't hold
her temper too.
Her head is thick
like grandma's roux.

She doesn't hold
her mother's attention.
In school she’d wind up
in detention.

She doesn't hold
her end up.
But thinks herself
a real bang-up!

She doesn't hold
it all together,
floats like a dead fish
or gull's feather.

She doesn't hold
hands.
The lady's a *****,
and doesn't make plans.

my deepest, darkest secrets
bolted in a wooden trunk.
All my junk stored in the attic.
And he stood static like the cobwebs
hanging from the ceiling.

I gave him
my hairless trim body.
The ******* the half shell
spilling her sweet perfume.
In full bloom, spreading out like
eagle wings, as he held
all the strings.

I gave him
my poetry.
He ate it down like candy,
lollipops and gumdrops
toffee flavored brandy.

I gave him
my photograph
cut out in a locket.
He threw it in his pocket
and forgot it.
The colors bled out
in the wash.

I gave him
my pneuma.
He pounced on it
like a puma in the grass.
I was the air he'd come
to pass.

at the world through a pane of glass,
hunched in a chair watching time pass.
These days she's nothing to do,
except to sleep, swallow and chew.

Her legs are swollen/knees bow.
She cannot walk/has no place to go.
She flips through a woman's magazine,
or she's staring at the television screen.

She doesn't change into street clothes.
Doesn't wash her hair/paint her nails or toes.
Wears the same wrinkled cotton nightie she slept in.
Has arthritis in her hands and a double chin.

She lost husband; her kids have grown.
This is the only life she's known.
She looks out that window every day.
Folds her hands as if to pray.

as a crumbled tissue
after it's been blown in
snot up and thrown in
the ******* bin

Discarded
as ***** water
in the bath
running down the drain
leaving a black ring
around the whole **** thing

Discarded
as a ******
pulled by a string
not seen
flushed down the toilet
for a new one that is clean

Discarded
as a piece of paper
scribbled with doodles
tossed like wet noodles
into the garbage can
with scraps from the frying pan

Discarded
as a broken umbrella
after the rainstorm
bent inside/out
with the wires sticking out

when winter is over
the ground doesn't splinter
when the robin sings
and the lilacs bloom
as a warm breeze carries
their sweet perfume

Wake me
when I'm under
a canopy of hanging branches
colored in emerald green
swinging in a hammock
tied between two trees
reading a book
or taking naps
as squirrels scurrying
chasing for scraps

Wake me
when school is out
and the lake is filled
with men fishing for trout
and the beaches are crowded
with women, children and gulls
when the sky is winking periwinkle
as the afternoons lull

Wake me
when the grill is on
smoking hot
steaks medium-rare
shrimp simmering in the ***
and the beer is chilled
the grass is long
and the ice-cream truck
plays that same old song
as children run to catch
frozen treats
faces dripping in sweat
red as beets

in puckered cotton?
not to be forgotten.
in a strapless dress of periwinkle blues
wearing stiletto leather shoes.

Will you lay me out
perfumed in Chantilly Lace?
Rouge my lips and face?
Place an orange rose in my hand.
This is not what I had planned.

Will you lay me out
under the pearl moon and diamond stars?
Read all my latest memoirs?
Do not stand, bow your head and weep.
Don't you lose an ounce of sleep!

Will you lay me out
in a cherry wooden coffin?
Visit me often?
Tell me all your ***** jokes,
light up and have a smoke!

as the cornflower sheets
on my cherry four posted bed,
till I fitted him. Then he hugged me
tight around the edge.

He was flat
as a piece of carbon paper
that laid tacit on
my roll-top desk,
till I rolled him and
smoked him
like a cigarette.

He was flat
as the crepes
on my plate. So, I
stuffed him with strawberries
and coated him in cream
till he was sweet as cupcake.
Then I swallowed him down
with a chocolate milkshake.

He was flat
as my father's jokes,
unexpected and not invited,
but delighted me just the same.
So, I snapped him;
hung in a wooden frame.

like a ripe banana
smothered in strawberry and
vanilla ice cream. Swimming in
chocolate sauce. Buried headfirst
in the whipped cream. I was the cherry
he tossed.

He split
like a rip in my tight dungarees
into two halves.
In and out
like a breeze. Squeezing
my calves and bending my knees.

He split
me like a piece of firewood
with his axe. He was splintered
from his childhood.  I was too.

He split
like a fat lip
that's been punched
by a clenching fist.
Bleeding and swollen,
twisted as my colon.

He split
like a ballerina
in a swan song.
Like a crack in my ****
that a thong cannot cover.
He's a hotel lover.

today? Are you wily
as a snake? Gentle as a summer's
breeze? Or so fragile that you'll
break? Will you sting me like a hive
of bees? Or rake me like the autumn leaves?

Who are you
behind your bedroom door,
lying in the dark rolled up like
a cigarette, above the hard
wood floor? Staring at the
the ceiling. Walls peelings like
your sunburnt skin. Who are you
before the drinks kick in?

Who are you
with her? Who are you
with him? Who are you standing with
your face in the bathroom mirror? A silhouette
in the shadows, when the lights
grow dim?

was made with grains
of sand. Molded with buttered
hands. The walls collapsed
in a wave. Too late for I to save.

His castle
was made in the clouds
with a grey shroud of mist
and a cyst full of doubt,
punching with his fist holes in
a fire sky. I was baked just like
the rye.

His castle
was made of milky paper,
sweet as a honey wafer. Pulled
from a cardboard book, smoked
and heavily shook. His grey ashes
landed on my eyelashes. So, I blinked.
He vanished in a wink.

to the kaleidoscope girl, Lucy
in the sky with diamonds
with the pearl tooth smile?
The long and winding road
she traveled mile after mile?

What happened
to the stars in her emerald eyes
dancing night fever moonbeams?
Where did her softness lie?
Her head full of dreams?

What happened
to her freebird skip?
What happened to her spring?
What happened to the silly love songs
she used to sing?

What happened
to long summer breeze days?
Where is the crystal ship
with its pills and thrills
stripped into the blaze?

like a bed that's wrinkled
from a mid-day romp. And I
stomp out of his room. A plucked
flower cannot bloom.

He made me over
like a face after a night of
heavy drinking, thinking he can
cover the bags and dark circles with
mascara and blush. He made me a lush!

He made me over
like last week's leftovers
sitting cold and hard, pushed
to the back of his refrigerator. He said
he'd warm them later.

He made me over
like a plan, till the ****
hit the fan.

about her hippie lovers
she had when she was risible and
younger. Talks about her friends
and covers a big chunk of her  

life. She was every guy's dream
but nobody's wife! Shoulder pads
and big hair, acid-washed jeans matching
silk bras and underwear. Night clubs and

all the beds she's landed in. She rubs
it in like a chalk painting. I'm straining
to hold a smile. This big ***** lady is
entertaining, but not my style. I sneak

a word as she comes up for
breath. It's like watching a scene from
Shakespeare's Macbeth! As I walk
the long hall heading to the door

her starry night eyes
hang on the floor. I leave her
like all her winters, dark and grey
with closets of splinters.

to water a dandelion
like a rose
to read poetry
in prose

to see white
when it's painted black
to think it's given
but it's taken back

to catch a glimmer
in shade
to think I've had it all
for all it to fade

to call a foe
a friend
to think we start
we end

of cards and letters. Burned
them like the golden leaves in my backyard,
till they were grey, flat and charred. But
the smoke still billows in the air

like a pile of dung from a mare. I washed
the scent off my body like salt and
sand after a day at the beach. But the grit
is stuck between my teeth. I blocked

numbers and addresses. Threw out
all the summer dresses, the creamy lacy
halter tops, the sandals and flip-flops that I
wore. But his picture is in my bedroom drawer.

years on him. Years she can
not pull back like her cornflower duvet
covers. Years she stood and hovered
as a slave for all she gave, holding the glass

pieces as they were cutting her hands
and fingers. She wasted so many
briny drops of crystal hops, weeping
as a willow, hanging onto the edges of

her pillow. Soaking up the quilting
cotton, wondering how she got in
all this mess? Still holding onto
barrels full of stress. She wasted

her baby years on starbursts and
screams, plucking every crimson colored
petal for steam. Holding a fist-full of thorns
that tore her from her dreams.

in satin ties and cashmere
suits but it doesn't have
arms or legs, or feet for
boots. You can spray it with

lavender cologne. But it'll
still lie prone, roll in the grass
and hiss.  Leave its mark
in a wide mouth kiss. Shake you off

like leather skin. Have you face
down and pinned. It's your only
addiction. But you'll die -
asphyxiation by constriction.

a nick on his wrinkled face
that doesn't stop bleeding.
Held by a piece of tissue in place.
His hairline receding.

I'll be
the hemorrhoid in his pants
that doesn't stop growing.
He talks in slants.
The probity not showing.

I’ll be
a floating eyelash in his almond eye
that doesn't stop making him blink.
An elephant stain on his square tie,
the spilled splotch of ink.

I'll be
the throbbing headache
that doesn't stop pounding.
He cannot shake
that which is bounding.

before the body dance
lit me up
like Paris France.
The waltz of a hand grenade
left my limbs flung and frayed.

Should have left
before he pressed his mouth
of pearls as he had former girls
in stacks of blazing kisses
from my cherry lips
down past my rolling hips.

Should have left
in the first embrace,
before his arms held me
in place.

Should have left
at hello!
But the iridescence
of his almond eyes
surrounded me like fireflies.

One More
temerarious lie
one more
supercilious reply
one more
unanswered call
one more
hyperbolic stall
one more
slammed door
one more
overstuffed drawer
one more
fitful sleep
one more
day I weep
one more
promise broken
one more
day we haven't spoken


One Less
smiling extol
one less
united goal
one less
card to buy
one less
steak to fry
one less
bed to make
one less
****** to fake
one less
***** dish to scrub
one less
ring around the tub
one less
lipstick stain on his collar
one less
night we fight and holler

out a hot hairy hole
in gasping contractions
****** and wet
stunned by doctors reactions.

I was pushed
out the chipped painted red door
wearing a polyester backpack, holding books
put on a yellow city bus
children shooting me harrowing looks.

I was pushed
into smoking cigars and cigarettes
drinking vanilla ***** nips and cans of beer
just to fit in.
So, they wouldn't call me a square.

I was pushed
into the metal lockers at school
by plump smart-*** girls,
and home by my wrinkled faced mom
who was ugly and cruel.

I was pushed
into marrying my first boyfriend
at the young age of twenty.
My friends were dating wild country boys
while I was counting every penny.

I was pushed
beyond limits
when my oldest son lost his mind
two years in a hospital bed
bedridden and blind.

I was pushed
into therapy
against my will
then ***** by the therapist
and charged with the bill.

I was pushed
till I pushed back.
Now I stand up for myself,
put my life back on track.

pictures of us
the poetry books
all his clothes
the ties off the hooks

I have burned
the soles of my feet
pacing the floors
the sauce on the stove
letters in drawers

I have burned
a hole in the carpet
from an unlit cigarette
like the one in my nightie
waking up in cold sweat

I have burned
the palm of my hand
spilling the tea
but I cannot burn
this haunting memory

in the eye
till the lid closes into a slit
colored black and blue
swollen like a tennis ball
so, my eyeglasses do not fit
but he'll not take me down a whit

He can punch me
in the mouth
give me a big fat lip
knock my teeth out north and south
but he'll not crack me with drouth
on my radar he's a blip

He can punch me
in the gut
till my innards are mashed potatoes
and the blood clots like squashed tomatoes
into a sauce
it's his loss

gagging on
on his lies. The fire in
his eyes embers
she dismembers

holding a fountain
pen. Black ink meeting
Zen. Bagging this reptile,
words her projectile. Pages

forest trees, rolling
banana leaves. Her pen
skis, flying down his
back. Leaving colored tracks

from the slaughter.
He fought her. But the long
tongue giant fell since
her lines did jell.

in his beveled bathroom mirror
rising in a billowing cloud of steam
on the glass, hazel eyes gleam
and the outline of a roman nose

blooming like a red rose
in his morning cup of coffee
sweet as sheets of toffee
he'll catch a reflection

floating on the top
swirling in the milky foam
a honey curly dome
outside his cranberry door

rolling in a cornflower sky
strawberry lips painted on the clouds
among the city crowds
the oval face enshrouds

have stopped.
And the ons
turned off.
My ins

running out.
Cherry lips smile
nary. Pushed
into a pout. White

is colored black.
My front is facing
back. All my ups
are down. No longer

get around.
And the new
is old.
Like blue cheese

grown mold.
No green light.
All are red.
No blooms.

The grass is
dead. The ground's
shaded dark. Unplugged.
I lost my spark.