is often rotten inside.
Shiny red with golden highlights,
hanging by a thread
glistening moonlight.

You take a bite
and you wince.
You kissed a frog
not the prince.

as the sun melts down
like butter
but only as it rises
don’t act surprised if
if I roll off you
as the morning dew

If you’re not there
as grey clouds
pour shrouds of pelting rain
but only as the rainbow
bridges the sky
I’ll form wings and fly

If you’re not there
as the oak grows bare
in the thick of the winter
as the trees splinter
don’t step at all
as golden, crimson
marmalade blanket shade
in the fall

We were before
The same place we’ve been a hundred times
But who’s counting
The same place that gets us into trouble
Haven’t we learned
We keep repeating the same old familiar patterns
Sometimes I think it’s just a distraction
And although it does us no good
There’s something very comforting about it
We can’t seem to live without
But we’ll never grow from the same *** of spoiled soil
And we’ll never flourish in the shadow of yesterday’s mistakes
Here we are again –
Back in the same place

I’m not afraid to lose.
It means I tried.
I have the right to choose.
Push shame aside.
Wipe away these blues.
Faith be my guide.
I’ll always pay my dues.
Let insults slide.
They won’t be able to bruise
this woman’s pride.

One is Never too Old

to experience the pure bliss
of a sultry kiss. Warm wind blows her hair
in your face; your arms are wrapped tight
as a python around her waist. You taste milk

and honey from her *******. Your
chest is rising, a hot kernel in a frying pan
that in a second is about to expand. As maracas,
shake, shake. Your toes curl as if they’re striped

ribbon candy that looks as hand blown-glass
from Christmas’s past. The hairs in your ears
tickle. The sound of them rubbing together is  
loud as a train whistle. This is joy in its most simplistic

way. This is ecstasy on a rainy day. It’s
fireworks in the snow. It’s a diaphanous, crystal
maze. You’ll shiver; you’ll quake. You’ll

implode. You’ll take to the blood-orange sky
as a raptor and delve in thunderous rapture. And
as you pass out  in a luminous field you’ll smell jasmine
and sweet clover at your heels.

I want you to love me
But
I’m afraid that you will
And if you do
I’ll push you
Away
Because
I’m not worthy
Of anyone’s
Love
I’ll be nasty
Until
You walk
Away
Then I’ll beg you
To stay
Only to
Do it
Over
again
I can’t help myself
When I
Cut myself
I bleed green
I’m alien
Ate it

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

like a cat
when he’s in action
running after a bird,
he’ll never catch. The thing

is he can’t fly. But when
he closes his eyes,
he imagines
that he can propel himself

if he stretches his legs out
enough to take a leap
of faith. The neighbor’s think
he’s crazy when they see him

fall flat
on his face. Maybe
he thinks he’s the bird
he’s chasing.

of choices to decide
which is the right one for you. There’s
so much to choose. A lifetime
of trials and wiles of the young. A

lifetime of making mistakes, having
things go awry. And then brushing it
off to the side. It takes a lifetime of hard
work and sacrifice. And still there’s no

guarantee what you do will suffice. It takes
a lifetime of heartache and angst to carry the
past in your head, not to make it form who you
are, but to become someone better instead.

I'm Eeyore. A dark cloud's
hanging over me, raining wine and
poetry. I won't leave the house. The sun
doesn't rouse me. I can't even leave

my bedroom. I'm so drowsy. Every day
is the same, lousy. Pulling the blankets
over my head, sinking in as a hibernating
bear. I'd like this year to disappear. It's a task

to brush my teeth, wash my face,
and join the human race. Men tell me to snap
out of it. Look at the bright side of things!
Count your blessings! But I'm a slug. And this

world is a treadmill looping around
and moving the ground under my feet. Colorful
collage of mixed messages scrambled together
that I can't encode. Slipping through my hands
like a muddy toad.

is the sun shining
and children laughing
this is happening
as I cry

Why
are the stars blinking
lover’s eyes twinkling
what are they thinking?
as I’m all alone

Why
is the day
rolling as a stone
as I stand still
I’d had my fill of lies
disguised as dreams
I despise these foolish things

Rats in the cellar. Rats chew through
the screens. Rats make nests under the
umbrella. When you open it their turds
drop like leaves. Rats in the backyard

eating the swill, the leftovers from
last night – chicken bones and skins of
the baked potatoes. When they get stuffed
they peer from the windowsill

into your room. They smell like an
unflushed toilet that backed up and became
overfilled. So, they spill into your dreams. Rats
in the cupboards chewing the bag of flour

so, it looks like it’s snowing - and the bag
like swiss cheese. Rats are your lovers, your
family and friends. They surround you and
get into everything.

Naked

She’s transparent as the tear drops that stain
her pretty face by smearing someone’s hate
under her eye liner and mascara. Don’t listen to

what people say. It shouldn’t matter. But it
does. She’s as sheer as her stockings
when she starts talking. You can hear the pitch

in her voice change, as a sliding trombone. See her eyes
glaze over, as a honey dew donut. Notice her head
drop, as boulder rolling down a mountain. Your words

become a smoking gun that you blow  in streams of
vowels and consonants. She’d rather have it all
fall out than implode. She’d rather be as is,

unclothed. Her heart is diaphanous too. It’s as delicate
as a loose tooth. And when it comes undone she
stores it under her pillow and grows a new one.

wasn’t those mommies who read story books in laps
and crooks of her *****. She shook those needle painted hooks
until said bled a velvet red and ran off alone to hide inside
the white ruffled canopy bed. She was cumbersome as the long mink

coat; she’d tote on a five-foot one frame of the mentally
insane. Little Dolly she’d call the tiny tot. Now sit and look pretty, don’t spoil your dress or I’ll beat you silly! Daddy had friends inside
his head that kept him entertained.  But when he got angry with them

there was hell to pay. And he took it out on the two with garish
words and hyperbole that could fill the vortex of dolly’s soul. Between the cries and begs mommy got exasperated and wiped the floor up
with dolly’s head like a mop. She must have got brain damaged when

she pitched her skull like a baseball through the glass window. It shattered into a hundred pieces. Boy, did she beat the bejesus out of Dolly!  She had welts the size of thick cigars and her behind was
on fire as a wood-burning stove and hung off her side like a overcooked

marshmallow.   Mommy dearest smoked those Parliaments one after the other. And between each puff of swirling grit she’d cuss out loudly and hurl her spit. Gawd, if only she’d choke on it! The orange bee-hive hair she wore looked like a hornet’s nest. Stung a thousand times young, and a thousand more since they rolled her corpse out the door.

I like the little people.
They haven’t lived long enough
to become jaded. They’re not judgmental.
They’re inquisitive and want

to learn. And they listen
with full hearts and empty heads
eager to get filled. The big people have
empty hearts and full heads. So, they

don’t listen well. And they’re simpler,
the little people. They find joy in little,
mundane things. The big people need the fancy,
expensive and complicated toys to bring them joy.

of skin, arms, legs, and
chin. The only thing
that grows is the hair and the nails
on my fingers and my toes. I take

this prison with me
as I leave.  I paint it with golden
glossy dyes and red polish. So, it shines
over the men that befriend and

abolish. Most don’t see this
cage. It fits me as I age. I can fly. But
I'm not free. I can travel the world
But I take this little girl curled up in a ball

and flung around my shoulders
as a shawl with me. And she weeps. So, I wipe
her eyes with sunflowers and rose gardens
till it looks like we're pardoned. That's key.

for four-leaf clovers
rainbows
or unicorns
no stars in these eyes
they’re open real wide

I’m not looking
on a happy-ever-after
a fairy-tale life
with castles and white knights

I’m not looking
outside
for answers
I’ll take my chances

I'm not looking
for a fix
no panacea
my idea of happiness
is fighting like a lion
sleeping like a bear
soaring like a falcon
high up in the air

in the corner of my head
as I’m busy with things
seems I just can’t shed
my hanging broken wings

He'll always be
night sweats in the sheets
broken sleep
the tingling in my feet

He’ll always be
in the swirling autumn leaves
I chase but cannot catch
He’s a rogue, a tease
an itch I cannot scratch

He’ll always be
popping in and out
dancing in the shadows
traveling about
bringing me the lows
that I can’t bang-out

He’ll always be
a cardinal on my windowsill
a blanket of April snow
burying this sweet rose til
I bleed into the snow

that you died. Your wide-brimmed smile
lit up the page of the obituaries. You were a lone
star with no beneficiaries.  It couldn’t
be death that cast a shadow on you, a man so robust

and out of the blue. Where are you going? I hadn’t
a chance to say what I needed. You left
in a rush. I would have pleaded for you stay. You weren’t
ready. Your coffee was warm, and the lights were

still on. You were expecting someone. You
wouldn’t have let them down by going out when
they came into town just to see you. I written you
letters in my head. Where do I send them? You didn’t leave

a forwarding address. And wherever
you are can you have visitors? I was thinking I’d might like
to come. Some days that feeling is very strong. I don’t belong
here without you. Wherever you are I want to go there too.

in his hands,
wet and pliable. He rolls me
out on his table, softly
caressing me. And I stick to

his fingers as a wet glove
covered in snow. I don’t want
to let go. I’m melting to his touch. All
my bits of hardness are broken

off and blended as a watercolor
in the rain. I rise as I dry
as the sun over the ocean in crimson
with streaks of gold. All this he rolled

with sweetness and years, with smiles
and with tears. I smell the waft
slip under his door as cinnamon and
clover, swirled into a sky of blue.

As Is

Some will like me as is. Some will not. Some
will want to turn me into someone they like without
realizing you can not. If your hair is too long you can
cut it. If your clothes are inapt you can change them. If the

music’s too offensive you can shut it off. But you can’t cut someone else’s hair, or change someone else’s clothes,
or shut someone else off. You can only realize for you, they
are not. And if I decide to style my hair differently or wear other

clothes and suddenly be quiet for you, I will not be
me. I will lose myself. You will not have me
either. I will be someone that neither of us knows. No one
will be happy, not me/not you. You might think you’re happy

for a little while, until you realize that I’m not a child. You may
cut a child’s hair and change their clothes. You may hush
a child when they’re speaking out of turn. But an adult is
someone you will never own.

that can be swept up or carried
away by the wind. And I’m more than
the body I’m in. I’m spirit of earth and
fire. I won’t stay where I am. I’m

going higher. I haven’t reached the place
where instead of the sun on my face I am
the light. And that light burns inside. And
radiates from my eyes. My eyes are candles

that glow from everything beautiful. A
kaleidoscope of fractured pieces comes together
and releases a translucent window that dances
in the shadows. I never will be hollowed as long

as I am followed. That’s where you’ll find me –
I’ll come up as poison ivy and ooze out of
your pores. That’s how I want to be remembered,
before the first frost of November.

uncloaked the guise. I wrapped
them in satin ribbons and bows. And so,
they glowed under that shine. But they
were not mine. I painted them in

watercolor memories. But the colors
all ran and left a stain through the purple
misty rain. And I drank that rain in a cup. Drank
it all till I filled up. Floating in the banks of

pain. Rolling down the levee. I'd no
idea yesterday is so heavy. I carried it
on my back.  I unpacked it with my blouse
and skirts, pants and boots for the worse. I've

stuffed in my bedroom drawer. Screamed
at it. I made it an outlaw! I don't dress it like
the turkey. I don't cover it in gravy like the
mashed potatoes. No, yesterday I serve raw -
I thaw it out the night before.

Place your guns back in the holster
This is over
These egos we need to bolster
Love’s hangover
leaves me dry as a desert in July

We took a long, cold bloodbath
It’s freezing
Each their own/their own wrath
And teasing
the feelings of yesterday is the way

I need a calmer life
of reading books
and water lillies
Reflecting On –
what’s important
and not distorting
what people say
where change
is more than the seasons
it’s reason to believe in
Myself –
an unpacked life
peaceful talks
and long walks in the woods
Joyfully –
catching a breeze
wishing a kiss
skipping a rock
being happy
without the add-ons

She’s reckless. A car crash on interstate 495,
in the middle of the night. A head-on collision
that hurls bodies as missiles, twisting them through
shards out of the windshield, until they look like

tails of a comet. Severed arms and legs that fly.  She’s a
single engine piston that took a nose-dive in the bushes
and burnt its victims alive, while they were still strapped to
their seats, beyond recognition

except for their teeth. She’s noxious gas that pours out
of shower heads, in crowded locked up chambers
choking unsuspecting, innocent people until they gasp
and clutch for their last breath, nameless faces. She’s reckless.

Is the sun too bright
for the sky? Does it burn out
the azure like a moth trapped
in a light fixture till it dies?

Is the ocean too deep
for the land? Does it swallow
the green as it stands?

Is the nightingale too melodic
in her song? Singing all night
in the moonlight. Does her pitch throw
the switch on his wand?

Is the dandelion too strong
for his coiffured lawn? As he
cuts her down she rebounds, poking out
her head like a foot from under
the spread. He can’t shell her
like a prawn.

If you don't grab it
Someone else will have it
If you dont use it
You will lose it
If you don't bother
Thinking about tomorrow
Then tomorrow will be spent
Thinking where today went

a blight, a deformity,
a disease. And blew me off
in a sneeze.

He called me
a runt, pariah of
the litter. And ate me up
like a meat fritter.

He called me
every day
at the beginning. But his
ardor started thinning.

I called him
on it. He threw
a fit. Tied tighter than
a bonnet under his chin
I’d no place to begin.

are straight
as a geometric line.
A curling rod wouldn’t
lift them.  I sift through
the day as flour in a sieve,
with lumps on top -
It's no way to live.

My lips
are stuck
together
as the valves in a clam.
I don’t talk to people.
It's the way I am.

My lips
are pale
as the cold winter's moon. I color
them red with thick cream. But it
smudges as fudge and sticks
to my dreams.

My lips
are cracked
as drywall spackle
slapped on the wall. I look
as a clown in view
of them all.

work it in

a squirrel chasing a
squirrel up the tree
to climb the bark and have my home in the bough
to bury my nuts as a treasure in the ground
to swish my long bushy tail
and frolic with the autumn wind
a life of simple pleasuring

You Remind Me of Butter

You’re hard when you’re cold,
inside of the steel box.
It’s there you keep your shape.
If I were to open your cage,
take you out
where there is warmth
and fresh air
I know you would melt
right in my hand.
You’d run down the length
of my arm,
liquid gold spreading like fire,
a greasy, waxy paste.
Nothing I could hold.
Nothing I could shape.
But see that’s the beauty of
when you let go.
You’re not formed.

ambition
back when I was a teen
Now my life's mission
is staring at a screen

I used to have
friends
people knocking on my door
this house was a castle
now all it has are creaky floors

I used to have
a waist
my shirts tucked in my pants
now the rolls of fat
are as large as France

I used to have
money in the bank
now I'm broke as hell
with only myself to thank

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

to do
on your to-do list
one more phone call
to make
after the end
of another long day
one more email
to read
when your eyes
were already blurry
one more person
to squeeze in
a busy schedule
that has
no room
you were
her everything
until
she became
one more thing

of flypaper
hanging on the walls

floating in the air
trapped in bathroom stalls.

And every fly
that whizzes by

is intoxicated with
my sweet perfume.

But little do they know
they're flying to their doom!

eyes
will never search for the answer in yours
these arms
will never enfold around your form
these lips
will never kiss you fervently
these ears
will never hear your fallen song
these words
will never reach you
it’s too late


This
heart
will never be the same
again

you used to wash all over yourself. And as
I melted I got smaller in your hands. I took
your dirt and ran down the drain. Till
all that was left of me was *****
water and poverty. You came
out clean.

Fantasy and Memory

are mostly the same.
They occupy space
inside my head.
In fantasy I chase
a dream instead
of an event.

But they whip up
the same feelings,
don’t they?
My dealings
of them
lead me astray
either way.

It’s Ok to cry the tears
to feel the fears
that hold you back
to have a panic attack
to be angry and bitter
it doesn’t make you a quitter
it makes you human

To be less than Ideal
whatever that means now
someone’s spiel
on what is real
often changes
how -
based on little information
that compounds with expectation

My smile is my dressing
coating the surface a creamy
red, spreading over a lettuce
bed. But it all pours from

a bottle. I’m a chopped onion,
protruding as the bunion on my
foot/hacked as a computer by
an adroit crook. The saddest

women smile as if their eyes
were cherries. But inside the rounded
glossy fruit lies a stone. And once all
the flesh is consumed the stone is spitted out
like stream from a whale’s spout.

because it doesn’t fall
as the rain
because it doesn’t move
as a weather-vane
because it sits still –
as a cardinal on my windowsill
because I can’t reach it
as I can’t the stars
because it isn’t near to me
it’s very far
because it isn’t naked
as an infant in birth
because it means more to me
than anything of monetary worth
because what it does with its tongue
is sing out sweet words
because it’s never seen my bed
yet stayed with me
over again
a faithful companion

as a broken mirror
I can’t see clearer
as my eyes, nose, and ears
aren’t aligned in the tiers.

Shattered
as a battered locomotive
running at high-speed
falling off the tracks
crashing on impact.

Shattered
as a rock thrown
through a window
smashed to smithereens
along with all my tattered dreams

Shattered
as a flying bullet to the brain
I stain white walls
with splattered blood and
red cat calls

No One Knows

what it’s like to live in shame, to have no name,
to be labeled the fool by those so cruel, with their insidious
laughs, behind your back. No one knows

what it’s like to have lost it all, intrepid enough to try
again because you have nothing. And nothing
to lose, except your dignity. No one knows

what it's like to live in anguish,  maintain the
smile behind unfilled desires. People refuse to see the message
you're putting out, because it's limned in idiosyncratic

ways that don’t embrace their priggish beliefs. Don’t get
entangled in their callow beefs. Living soporific lives
they’ve nothing better to do. You’re like the leaves

that stick to the grass after an autumn rain, a blanket of
orange, crimson and gold stain for labile feet  to *****
upon. No one knows. Underneath, there's green that gets
covered up in winter frost.

I read your blog
On your wall
Pictures you post
I see it all
You don’t know it
You can’t see
I follow you silently
All your updates
Past events
Everything you experience
People and places
Things that you’ve written
Thoughts and ideas
You’ve passionately mentioned
It gives me goosebumps
Chills down my spine
I follow you
All the time
You make this little girl’s
Heart skip beats
When I scroll
My computer screen
It’s as if
I’m living a dream
I know what you ate
Know where you’ve been
With who and what and when
Know when you're sick
and when you're well
I can always tell
Know when you sleep
And get up
Can’t get enough
I follow you
to pass the time
Now you know
That I know
More about you
Then maybe you wish
Some might say
I’m obsessed
That I’m a stalker
I follow you to death
It doesn’t hurt anyone
I Follow you
just for fun!

is "a doll"
a pretty face
the flashing smile
round pointed mounds
and curvy hips
my cherry lips
not my wit

All he saw
is my rage
a pink panther
pacing in her cage
the inferno that bit him
like a lion
not that I'm trying
to cover up the pain
and that I'm dying
slowly every day

All he saw
is a dinosaur
I'm extinct in his head
my poetry dead -
he wouldn’t lend to thieves!
not that I'm prolific and gifted
and colorful as the autumn leaves

let it rest.
Let the chickadee
fly the nest.

When it’s over
don’t resurrect.
As a mirror
just reflect.

When it’s over
don’t protest.
Don’t stick out like
Dolly Parton’s *******.

This Poem

is going to be “the poem” that moves you,
has you flying out of your chair. The one that resounds
in your head like something your mother said. This poem

is going to “be it”, take you away to foreign lands, to sparkling waterfalls and grand canyons, a poem  that orbits
you out of this earth, gives you rebirth. This poem

is going to be “so wonderful” you are going to place in a twenty-four karat gold frame, engrave it with my name
and display in the Louvre.

This poem “says I love you”

***** Water

I wish my hurt were bath water
I’d wash it down the drain
Accumulated from the years
rinse out all the pain

My tears fill the bath and still spill over the sides
hurtful things people done, too many lies
floating inside theses bubbles,
escaping my pain and my troubles.
Never feeling clean/never feeling clean

When you’ve grown up to feel useless you become
No better than ***** water; no better than floating ****
I try to skim it off the top, it sticks like chewing gum
I’ve scrubbed it with a scouring pad, turning the water bright red
Never feeling clean/never feeling clean

One day I’m going to put my face down into the water
Let it get inside my ears, my eyes, my nose my mouth
Drown my sorrow. Drown this body .
Let my spirit fly/ clean at last/clean of the past