what he is in her life. Just as
the moon doesn’t know what it
it is to the night. After all, the stars

shine their radiant light.  Sometimes
the moon’s just a thin sliver
that gets lost in the sauce of the river.

He doesn’t know
that to cut off his appendage
would destroy her. When
the wind rips the branch off the tree

what happens to the nest full of baby
birdies? Even if it were to survive the fall
hungry predators out there would
core the nest like a pear. And none
would be more for the wise.

they are azure
as a cloudless sky. I float
as a balloon up high.

When I have the greens
they are dandelions
pushing out between the blades
on a day that offers no shade.

When I have the yellows
they are gold,
bright and reflective mirrors
of my soul.

in his lies
stuck just like
a trapped fly
caught in the spider’s web
strung out
on all he said

Don’t get tangled
on the rhetoric
like a deer tick
he’ll embed his head
on you
leaving you ill
like the flu

Don’t get tangled
in his arms
hell wrap you up
like a burrito
making you itch
like a mosquito

Don’t get tangled
on the baggage
he’s as dense
as a cabbage
you’ll be served cold
on the side
till you grow old
with no allies

You always have your hand
on my hair-trigger. There it lingers

until it blows you up in billows
of fluff. Has you staggering like a panhandler

clamoring for a buck when he’s down
on his luck.

begging for paper crumbs
and then becomes
smaller upon the feast.
This woman's a beast.

Never that girl
spreading her petals  
and then settles for less.
This woman stands for success.

Never that girl
weeping over him
climbing out on a limb.
Not ever seen.
This woman's a queen.

Never that girl
broken in pieces,
flushed down as faeces.
As the Pheonix she'll rise.
This woman's a prize.

sits as a ton of bricks
in my chest. I can’t breathe. I gasp
for air and flap, as a fish
pulled from its cool water bath.

A broken heart
lays as a heavy sack
on my back. I’m hunched
over. And I move slow
carrying the load. Some days
I don't move at all. It hurts so,
my engines stalled.

A broken heart
weeps in the night under
the corner streetlight. It hangs
its head down as a willow tree
and cleans the sidewalk with
teardrops leaves.

Every pass I take
I can’t erase the reflection in
the glass. Mirrors in the clouds. Mirrors in
the puddles on the ground. Even my shadow

carries them around. Mirrors make me look
larger the closer to them I stand. I’m going to
throw them all in the closet. Mirrors in
my car. Mirrors on the wall. They’re all over

the mall. Mirrors in the salon. I’ve been
introduced to mirrors from the day
I was born. I’ve broken them into pieces. I’ve
thrown in them in the trash. I can

no longer define myself from some piece of glass.

I want it, want it, want it
more than the baby wants the bottle
more than a theory to Aristotle
I need it, need it, need it
more than a heart needs to beat
more than a man needs to eat
more than Romeo needs Juliet
more than a gambler lives for his next bet
It consumes me as the plague
Makes this thought seem rather vague
It's got me, got me, got me
Will I last this day?
Is April after May?

I don’t want a lot of money
I’ve gotten by on bread and beer
I don’t want a big mansion
I could live inside a square -
four corners and roof

I don’t need a stage to sing on
I only want to sing to you
I don’t need fine jewelry
or a trip to Hollywood

I don’t want designer clothes
jeans and a tee will do
I love walking barefoot in the snow
Holding hands in the woods
All I want is for you to care
Do you think that you could?

I’ve been carrying this torch
for far too long. I carried it when
you were broken and tired, uninspired by
the same old song. I carried it starting

in the summer of ’07 when you blew out
the candle on us. Carried it during the start of my
new job. I carried it during my cancer scare, when
you were nowhere, carried it right into the sterile

room where they inserted the long needle
for the biopsy, while I was petrified laying on
the flat, hard table. I asked for the blanket. But you
refused to even yield something that brought

comfort to me. I carried it during the
10-minute intervals when I felt like swill. I carried
it into every drunken rage against you – no more.
This time I’ll pass it on.

If you give me "no"
I’ll only turn it around.
Arrange it backwards.  
Put it upside down.
Turn it on its head.
And then it won't be "no",
it'll be "on"
instead!

my own fat
and do this exercise
when I’m not in the mood
it’s no excuse
Push Past
this depression
my indigestion
these aches and pains
from getting older
this indignation
from lack of
appreciation
Push Past
cars cutting me off
wanting to be first
at the red light
Publisher’s that scoff
at all my poems
without knowing
how hard I work
on them
Push Past
my own defenses
Because I put up
walls
to protect
myself
Push Past
the *******
En masse
from people who believe
something different
than me
Push Past
my own thoughts
that build up
like plague
turn black
Stab me
in the back
these worries
give me
no glory
only sleepless nights
Push Past
to another day
saying to myself -
It Will Be Ok
Giving it
my best shot
Giving it
all I’ve got
when sometimes
that’s very little
Push Past
another line
to complete
this poem
without knowing
if I’ve gone too far
will it be too much
should I
leave it
or
leave it
leave it
no more

Icon

legend, feel my presence. There can
only be one me. In my own skin
is how I’m growing. I’ll water myself

every day, provide my own type
of shade. I’ll prune and trim,
cut back enough

so I can grow new buds. I’ll blossom
into what I’m supposed to me. Whatever
that is, will be unique. It won’t be

you or anyone else. I’ve got to
learn to love myself. I’m not
young. But I don’t need

to be young. I’m not
wealthy. But I don’t need
to be wealthy. I’m not the brightest

star that ever shined. But I’m in
the sky. And to me
that’s just fine.

Blot

You were supposed to be
not. You were a thing to put out
her cigarette butts. A girl is an image of her
mother. Why does the world need another?

You were a reminder of everything she never
got. You were her scapegoat. You were
stupid, something to grate on her nerves.
Someone who demanded time and

attention. You were a
blot on her womanly figure. Why did
you cry? She couldn’t take anything more than
a whisper. When she cut you, you were supposed to
bear the sting. Look pretty, sit quiet – is  a girl’s thing

If I were water
I’d vapor
as I boil
I would taper

If I were paper
I’d float
till I became
completely soaked

If I were cheese
I’d curdle
like bulging fat
stuff in a girdle

If I were wood
I’d splinter
turn to mulch
come the winter

If I were rock
I’d roll alone
be nothing more
then a rolling stone

I’m steel
strong and shiny
tough enough
to face an army

to toss a match
set a forest ablaze
a moment
can break a child
without praise

A moment
to take a life
driving while drinking
a moment
to say painful things
not thinking

A moment
can make a hand into a fist
a moment
can land a punch
with a twist

A moment
can blow up this world
in a switch
a moment
to end all moments
from a glitch

paint it
fire-engine red
taint the hail
with rounded steel
so, it knocks off a couple heads

I’d like to take the sky
rowing a boat
and if I tire
I can sit back
and see the clouds just float

I’d like to take the sky
bring it down
to the earth
so, the men and woman
that can’t reach it
are saddled with its girth

Your hypocrisy- wings
Your bureaucracy- wings
Your insults- wings
Your consults- wings
Your expectations-wings
Your impatience-wings
Your resignations-wings
Your demands-wings
Your commands-wings
Your arrogance-wings
Your disinheritance-wings
Your apathy-wings
Your cruelty-wings
Your duality-wings

Bye, bye! Fly high, high away

of my love it fit you like
a velvet glove, molded to your
leather hand, wrapped around
your fingers like a rubber band, cutting off
your circulation. You'd be growing
a new mutation.

If you held a drop
of my pain it crush you like
a freight train. You'd be cut off from
the wrist. Your veins hanging
into a gnarly twist.

If you held a drop
of my sweat, a tiny pearl
be a threat. It burn a hole inside
your palm as if someone dropped
an hydrogen bomb.

If you held a drop
of my tears, for all the years
I wept inside my hands you'd fill
the oceans and the seas. I’m not a pluck
of hair you can tweeze.

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.

I’d soar
higher than the trees
into the clouds
and catch a breeze

If I Grew fins
I’d swim
longer than the seas
onto the earth’s outer edge
and be a tease

If I Grew muscle
I’d lift
you off your knees
into the dancing stars
and galaxies

Democrats & Republicans

A needle is a slender piece of shiny metal
with a hole at one end. A thread is a long,
colorful strand of cotton.  They feel very different,
when you hold them in your hand. One is loose,

the other is stiff. They don’t look the same. One is
straight as an arrow, the other can change
its shape as it bends.  But when I push the thread
through the eye of the needle a miraculous

event occurs. Now the two start working
together. And together they have the possibility
to do many great things. My golden button was coming
unraveled. If the needle and thread didn’t repair it,

it would have fallen off, lost forever,
somewhere in the park. I always think about that
on my long, nature walks. I can relate it to most anything,
the democrats and republicans.

Fill up the basin, see it drain
your dreams –
circle around the white porcelain
like watching the headless horseman, carrying the weight
of its thoughts in its hands and riding hard until
they go out through a vacuous shard.

Every afternoon is the same
Fill up your purse with things so diverse –
as cosmetics, alcohol, candy and clothes and rush out the door
without being exposed for the illicit stunt.
Another victorious scavenger hunt!

Every evening is the same
Fill up the martini glass with enough *****
to make you pass-out on the couch so you can forget
about your useless life as each poem you write
wilts. Besides, they only think you’re made of fluff. You’re dead as the skin cells that slough off in the bath.
There can only be one Sylvia Plath.

bright he lights the night
as a forest fire -
every tree ignites
smoky haze clogs the air
in a daze, she hogs the err

When he burns
low he's heavy
as a buffalo
and the pain of no
shadows her till the stars
grow dim
to numb the pain
she'd cut off her limbs

a moment
jump back into the frame
you can't take my place
I’d have things the same
look behind me –
now it’s yesterday

If I could freezeframe
this man
twist-tie the hands of time
wrap myself around him
as he’s mine
so, we can chill out and unwind

If I could freezeframe
that year
hang it on the wall
if only I'd looked into a crystal ball!
but then you don't have a second chance
this movie plays out till the end
can’t rewind –
and go back again

Stop!
your complaining.
It’s very draining.
Stop!
wearing a frown.
It gets us down.
Stop!
with your chiding
it’s overriding
everyone’s joy.
Why annoy us
with your bunk?
Get out of your funk!

goes round and round,
a conveyor belt. As sweat
melts off every man and
woman standing bored out of

their skulls, homing in as
a flock of gulls. Mashed together
as broken shells around this
carousel. And waiting. Baby screaming

out her lungs. Boy sticking out
his tongue. And the colors swirl, gold
red, blue, and purple, a Van Gogh
painting. And waiting.

in my arms
they're the blanket
to your soul
throw out all your troubles
allow them to float
weightless in the air
lay your weary head
upon my chest
close your eyes
drift away
slumber in peace
ensconce in my arms
nothing can get to you
no one can do you harm
swaddled in my love
my breath a gentle breeze
rocks you in a cradle
of elongated limbs
nestles you in comfort
before another day begins

My life has become breadcrumbs, little pieces broken off
scattered in the dark. They get stepped on; they get
lost. They get gobbled up by mangy pigeons, not the least bit happy to leave me a smidgen. It’s not as if I want much,

a little chunk to call my own. Here, take the carcass. But leave
a bone. I’m a tendril, stirrup-shaped stapes. You can’t see me. I’m set in place, stuck as an oyster, hard to shuck, wasting time
lying in muck, kicked over, picked up and thrown down. I feel

smaller than a grain of sand. I am bluer than the bluest
ocean. Is it too much to want a little more? Am I’m I selfish
for not settling for scraps? I grow anxious watching time
lapse. I’m useless as a dried tea bag that’s discarded in the

trash. I’m picked over as the bargain bin. No one knows my anguish or suffering. I grew up a sliver, so I stick in people
as a splinter, until the pain’s unbearable. If you wanted to measure my worth it’d be negligible, except for my hurt.

Why is it
they always read
someone else’s
and not me?
and why
do they buy
someone else’s
and not mine?
aren’t I worth
what someone else
is?
haven’t I given
as much
as someone else
gives?
haven’t I
sweated?
haven’t I
labored?
Why is it
always
I’m never
favored?

are droplets of brine
strung as beads
hung over the cavity
of my black chest.

The sparkle in my smile
is a palette of metallic red
painted on with a wand
thick as a loaf of bread.

The wave of my arms
is as a pendulum weighted
down and fixed on the hour
living in a cherry tower.

The swing in my hips
is a **** on a vane
that swirls in the direction
of a fickle wind
and swings back again.

The spring in my step
is from a pebble that sits
in my shoes and rolls around
as I move.

is a Picasso. She paints
it with the mascara wand. Rising
at dawn to roll the tube of crimson
wax to color her lips. She dips in a brush –

not for dust. But to sweep the powered
roses on her flesh. The shadow she sees
are mint green or azure. Depends on
the day if she’ll wear less or add

more. A pencil isn't for
writing the script, She underlines
her eyes with it.

that'll not fly quietly
into a black crow night
not an old screech owl
a coyote that howls

under the dancing moonlight
broad as a mountain
not a leaky fountain
that drizzles in spits
turns and twists

a wrecking ball
that destroys all
standing in her way
she'll not lie down

she's sky
not the ground
finding and cracking
men's feet of clay

Afraid to cry
Your tears might freeze
Afraid to love
You might be brought to your knees
Afraid to rage
You might implode
Afraid to receive
You might be owed
Afraid to confess
Your skin might peel
Afraid to be human
You might be real

from the winter storm
that cut me down.
Now I’ve thorns
I wear as crowns.
A fallen tree,
my bark stripped.
Now I’ve quills to fill
the holes
since I tipped.
No one wants a pointed edge,
broken stock,
a spiky hedge.

burning out as this day,
fading into the backdrop because
you’ve no shade. Your phone is
always nearby. It sticks to your ribs

as warm apple pie. Everyone relies
upon you as much as they do the sun
and the moon. What can I say? You’re
the stars in their eyes, the light of their

lives. This earth would dry out and crack
if it didn’t have you. It’s a lot on one
man’s back. Always the open door. You
never take in the welcome mat.

I dart in and out of, divided by
the painted lines. There’re the fast ones
and the slow ones, depending on the
time. Did you ever feel like you’ve been dumped

here, in the middle of a traffic jam? Do you
feel like you don’t make a difference?  I want to be
an airplane, high above it all. When I look out
my window people are ants I could squash

beneath my feet. Every step a moving street. I’ve been run
over many times. Tire tracks left these impressions.
Wonder what you would get if you connected
the lines. Maybe a constellation. I’m the unnamed star.

growling in my stomach
larger than a lion
that ties in everything I do

brighter than a flame burning
turning light onto the shadows
flinging pens as if they're arrows

on the marks of men
that left footprints on my hide
the stain has spread and dried

a song I’ll sing till I die
and none can silence me
I’m a worker bee

that had been asleep
that grew dusty
from lack of use
was pale
from lack of light
was sad
from lack of smiles
was hopeless

and I thank you
for making me
smile
making me
laugh
giving me
hope
making life
worthwhile

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.

if I can’t save me from
myself? If I haven’t the strength
to go on who will hold me up
when I’m about to fall

down? Who will grab the razor
from whence my hand it came? Who
will take the blame for all the shame of
my past? Who will cut the rope

around my neck before I strangle
myself to death? Who will take the bottle
of poison before I empty it out come
morning? Who will hold me in their

arms when I’ve shattered in pieces so
small that they fall off as flakes of dandruff
and are carried away with the wind? Who will
absolve me of all my sin?

can't be made of chalk. It fades
as men walk over it. It blends
with the ground. So, the white
turns brown.

This line of mine
can't be drawn with sticks. The men
kick them to the side. And roll in
just like the tide, drowning me
with their energy.

This line of mine
can't be built with bricks. It make
a wall a mountain tall. So, no man
can climb at all.

This line of mine
I frame in elastic. Not rigid,
but plastic. So, I can
stretch it out or pull it back. It can
expand or contract. Not set in
stone. But sewn in my
undergarments. So, men can leave
no comments.

cold as New England
winters. Fallen like wood from
an axe in shards shaped and
sharp as tacks in my back

yard. My pieces are pine
needles spread over a patch of
yellow blanket. Cause I look like
litter to the fox and the hound

as they go. I dry to a dullish
brown and blend in with the ground
as the sun thawed the snow. Men
trod with boots and squirrels

paw with their claws, leaving me
turned up as autumn leaves. I
bottom out in the eaves. A paste of
mud and stick is me.

that swings by
my side. And hangs as
a cracked branch in the wind,
that hasn’t fallen off. I’ve had

men and friends as heavy, that
weighed me down as a levy. Every turn
or twist is a mangled cyst. Ever have
a match pair that doesn’t evenly

wear? If I had an ax I’d lop off
the sad timber. No point as it isn’t
limber. The stars I see aren’t shiny. No, I’d
say they’re spiny.  A hanger-oner

is like carrying an empty suitcase
with the zipper stuck in place that takes up
all my space. And the teeth of the zipper biting
into my flesh as lightning.

as a snowflake
falling from the sky
soft as the wings
on a butterfly

soft as the leaves
on a weeping willow
the fluffy goose down
stuffed inside my pillow

soft as the hair
on a rabbit
as the velvet wine
in a bottle of Cabot

soft until
it poured down buckets
the clouds above
caused a ruckus

then I hardened
as my world darkened
hard as a wooden broomstick
even harder than a ton of bricks

I'll not catch the raindrops
running off my rooftop
they froze into icicles
pointy, jabbing rising hills

my hair. It fell
in clumps all over my
chair. I lost my sleep. I spent
last night counting sheep. I lost

the little money I had. I spent
it on every fad. I lost my looks,
lost track of time. Once I said
this world is mine. I lost my voice

from years of screaming/losing my head
from years of dreaming. I lost my nerve -
but didn't let up. Lost my friends that didn't
deserve me. Men move on. Time doesn't

stall. Even the trees lose their leaves
in fall. I lost my youth walking the hills of
old Duluth.  But I found still some room
to break new ground!

like the warm, wet sand
on a summer’s afternoon
Let me leave my footprints
on you.

Love me
like a scoop of vanilla
ice-cream. Let me go down
soft and easy.

Love me
like an open window. You’ll
hear my soft pitter patter when the rain
falls.  The only thing that matters above
all is that you keep me alive in
your dreams. You know I’m never far
from reach.

I count

As much as a rock star
The greatest czar
The earl of Kent
The president
A doctor or a lawyer
Mark Twain’s Tom Sawyer
Dickens or Thoreau
I’m not letting this go

I count

As much as barrels full of money
Don’t need to be someone’s honey
I count as one single, sensational person
Even when things worsen
I count even more
I count from sea to shore

I count

You better hear me
Let me say this nice and clearly
You ain’t gonna stop me
Just watch me!

I can not be discovered.
There's evidence.
Hide them/hide them
Where?
In the cabinet
Above the refrigorator
No one will look in there.
Act cool; don't talk; you'll slurr
Everything will be a blurr
Don't stand; you'll sway
Everything will be ok

I shed all my tears.
I screamed every colorful word.
It fell on deaf ears.
Only these four walls have heard.

I divulged every emotion
a woman haves.
I caused such a commotion.
it split me in halves.

The halves reversed.
My head’s down at the ground.
This is the worst!
In a deep puddle I drowned.
No more will I thirst.