a sheet of paper
wrinkled, into a ball.
I, his latest caper
that they coined a moll.

Crumbles, a stale cookie
baking in the sun.
And I a rookie
holding the head he spun.

Crumbles as his front steps.
As I climb, I fall
into his bulging biceps.
I, his rag doll.

He crumbles, a statue
built out of stone,
with jeremiad words to chew.
I, a ***** of bones.

like a car in a junkyard.
Squeezed me like an accordion.
Haven't spoken to him since then.

He crushed me
like a walnut in the jaws
of a nutcracker.
Broke my shell to bits.
They should have laws
forbidding this.

He crushed me
like roadkill.
Ran over me,
and left me for dead.
I'm flattened.
How did this happen?

up
as a paper doll
in blouse and skirt
and knitted shawl
and it’d hurt
between the lolls
when he didn’t call

He cut me
down
as an old oak tree
with tainted words
dropped to my knees
cut me in thirds
in a fell swoop breeze

He cut me
in
the spring
as tulips bloom
cut all my heartstrings
not to resume
this threadbare fling

He cut me
out
of his life
with a pen
not a knife
and then
took a wife

like a piece of old silk cloth
bought at the fabric store. And
stitched me into a pair of pants
a moth ate holes in and

danced. Sliced me like a loaf
of bread. Throwing away
the crust and ends. Sandwiching
me with a ****** between a rock

and a hard place with boyish
lust. He shaved me. And I grew
back as new stubble, short and
hard, till I scratch everything

that touches my skin. He axed
me like a maple tree. And I
fell hard, covering his whole
front yard. Then he took my limbs

and shredded them into his
woodchipper. I was broken into
a thousand pieces. My release is
spreading them as mulch in my garden.

this doctor, this surgeon
and left me on the table
to wipe the sweat from
his brow. He wasn't able to

remove the tumor now. He jumped
at the size. Rumor is his body
paralyzed. His legs Jello, far from
the mellow man walking in dockers,

sporting a tan. His hands trembling
as the ground in an earthquake,
far from the bloke kayaking
on Swan Lake. And I bled out red,

a trout prepped for the meal,
with a sprig of thyme and
a slice of lemon in her mouth
left on a table of steel.

the shirt off his back
the small amount of time on his break
something to laugh at when your heart aches
the world is a sadder place without you, John
what I say here doesn't matter
because things will never be the same
I read and re-read your messages again
listen to the voice mail with tears
wishing I had called last year
regretting never telling you my feelings
so I paste them on my wall
in fact I'll pin them here
in tribute to you
the guy who was friends with everyone
made us laugh
listened with care
worked his *** off
loved tie-dye tee shirts
and long hair
beetle bugs
tequila, jack and foamy mugs of beer
***** jokes
******* bunnies
but most of all
loved his honey

or string the stars. The harps
you heard were sliding boxcars.
He didn't paint the sky sea blue.

Your tinted glasses blocked out
the roux. He didn't sprinkle the morning
grass with dew or blow up the sun like

a golden balloon.  He didn't scent the room
in drifts of lilacs and lavender.  He shifted
like the months on a calendar.

when his cell
played her song as her name
displayed on his screen
to pick it up. He delayed

checking his messages. And all
her emails sat in his in-basket
left unopened, taking residence like
a list of presidents. He didn't think

she'd not show, like she had no place
to go, only to his house. He didn't think
as days turned into weeks and not
a peep of her there. And dust bunnies

made their home in the corners
of her chocolate velvet chair, as autumn
closed in, with crimson, yellow leaves
falling to the ground, billowing in the

breeze. He didn't hear a sound
from her. Not even a tease of the
cheesy smile she once wore. He didn't think
as the numbers on his calendar changed
that it was strange she hadn't called. Or when

was the last time he laid eyes
on her petite figure? Or jumped in her
laughter. Or see the sun bounce off the
long honey highlights in her hair? Or how

her perfume filled the air with lilacs in
his room. Or the plume of her thrift-store
rainbow dress. Now that the old burly
oak tree with painted leaves in emerald

green standing outside his windowpane
left a stain of her dancing pirouettes around it.
Her running in the rain along with her mascara.
Confound it!

she'd leave. So, when she did
he said she'd return as the crimson,
golden leaves blow off the old oak trees
in autumn. She'd hit the bottom

and sprout up green again. But it's been
two years since then. He didn't think
she'd live without him. He, the sun
moon and stars. Drinking gin,

reading memoirs. No, he didn't think this
out. He just went about his day, a slave
to the work and pay. The phone, glued
to his hand as the day whittles. Then lying

on the nightstand as he mimics sleep. No,
he didn't think he'd see sheep jumping fences
or weep in his defenses. Lighted numbers
advance. He challenges himself not to

glance. He didn't think this last. But the years
are flying passed him. And he cannot recast
them. His temples greying, teeth decaying. The flesh
hangs off his bones as another hour drones.

my ******* are drums
my feet are numb
can’t move –
strung on the notes he plays
hung on the melody –
Breathlessly
the stubble on his face
Ivory
his curly hair
a harpsichord
his fruity stare
a glass of Chambord
Waltzing the Matilda
with him
swinging hips
looking trim
under the glare
of Times Square
eyes locked as keys
in the ***** breeze
of New York New York

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.

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.

or do as he’s asked. He likes
to bask in the sun. Likes to goof off
and have fun. He likes puzzles and
brownies. He like Big Bird,

Animal Planet and cookies and
cholate ice-cream He can shoot
a basketball. Covid hasn’t angered
him at all. I cannot say the same

for me. He picks at his scabs. And he digs
cheese. He isn’t hard to please. He smiles
and laughs at the world. Doesn’t have a job
or a girl. He has me!

in smiles and flattery. But he's
just a placebo with a medical  
degree.

He dresses to ****
in tight dungarees, wearing
a five-o'clock shadow and Cartier
shades. He throws you a look, hiding the ace
of spades.

He dresses to ****
a flaming red rocket. You didn't
see the fuel in his trouser pocket. All you
could see was the picture in your locket.

He dresses to ****
in snakeskin boots, a Mr. Hyde. But to
the world outside, he's a white coat that loots
women as his prize.

He Dropped Me

like a crumbled-up piece of paper, discarded
because of all its mistakes, then tossed into the waste basket with the look of disgust on his face. He dropped me like a hot iron that had burnt his delicate hand, because it wasn’t so well protected. I was Kryptonite to the superman. He dropped me like a name at a party,

erudite and sagacious. I made my rounds unmasked among his comrades, real fast. He dropped me like a baby when it’s faced down in the birthing position. He pushed me out with a catapulting contraction. I was covered in blood by the birth. But he never cut the cord. I still wear it around my neck; swear I almost choked to

death on it. He dropped me like a water balloon falling from of a three- story window. When it lands it goes “splat” and breaks apart from the high impact. He dropped me like a banana peel. You slipped on it. When you fell, was it you who caught me, or I who caught you?  We both laughed at the foolish things people do.

as a pancake,
somersaulting high in the air
an acrobatic made of eggs, milk and flour.
Scared the sleeping, curled up cat,
lying on the kitchen chair.
Falling flat into a frying pan of sizzling butter,
Plumping himself.
bumping against the sides
filling the whole bottom.
Gold as the leaves in autumn.
Shining as the sun,
but none to turn him.
He burned from outside in.

As she cut into him
the gold turned black,
sticking as plague to her teeth.
Charred as ash underneath.
No honey, cream or syrup
could deter it.
And even if it could
she'd not prefer it.

rope to hang myself with. He slipped
the woven fiber around my neck. I saw
it as a polished necklace. Every time I moved
closer it went from a strand of pearls to

a choker. He lifted me off my feet. I didn't
touch the ground. I swung from a
breeze. Every time I took a breath I grew
closer to my death. He sat back to view

the show, with a seat in the front
row. Munched on buttered popcorn and
drank cola. My head, spinning like drunk on
gin and soda. I screamed out at the last

second. But my screams didn't beckon
him to move. His lines became warper as
I slipped into torpor, till I'm dust in the air. And I'd
cling to his head if he had him some hair.

leaving you
weeping in the bottle
drowning in his trip. You blotted
him out with a pour and

a sip. He became hazy
as last night’s potato’s and
gravy after they've mixed inside
the large intestines. He came back

with his swing and smile. The zing,
lost on every measured mile. He
left crumbs the birds ate. Now he's
looking for cake.

like a horse
when someone pulls
on the reigns, like a prisoner
shackled in chains

He held back
like a child
beaten down by
shame, like a stillborn
not given a name

He held back
and I withered
in his listless arms
as I slithered down
the mountain unarmed

like the statue of liberty
holds the torch of hope. That’s

what I was to him, and he to me –
it was freedom in his arms. The light

that surrounds the cradle enables the
stunted seed to grow. But again, it broke

down when we took it out of familiar
water. You couldn’t put liberty in Bar

Harbor. It wouldn’t be the same. And now
I hold the torch for a man with no name.

like a banana cream pie
in the face. But it wasn’t sweet! It stung
as Mace. And I was blind from the chase.

He hit me
like a hickory stick
falling from the sky like
a ton of bricks. I wore the welts
shiny as the buckle in his belt.

He hit me
like a Mack truck. I didn’t
duck. So, I wear the tracks. Now I’m flat
upon my back.

like pelting hail
till I had bumps
raised as braille
and he danced all over them
using his finger as a pen

He hit me
like a flying dart
pierced the bullseye
I, his mark
on his first throw
had me from the go

He hit me
like a bombing blizzard
billowing white dust
blinding me with every gust
till I was swimming in the soup
and then he flew the coop

He hit me
like quicksand
putty in his hand
as I moved
he would expand
and held me tight
into his chambers
and let me sink
like we were strangers

up to family and friends,
as a conquest -
the prize he has won.
But does he hold her up
when her womb is full of son?
When stretch-marks cross her belly
and childbirth leaves her tummy
wobbly as jelly?

He holds her
hand walking in the moonlight.
Under the stars he sweeps her off her feet.
But does he hold her hand
when she's old and not as sweet?
When wrinkles cover her skin
and her hair is grey and thin?

He holds her
in reverie,
google-eyed rhapsody.
But does she become a memory
once he sees reality?

the sun
not just on anyone
but on me
hung it with honey
and jubilee

He hung
the moon
not a moment too soon
but on the mark
with glitter and spark

He hung
the stars
not as they are
but with candy canes
and gumdrops
chocolate bars
and memoirs

He hung
around
as all the men left
waltzing down
a steep, rocky cleft

He hung
out
as a totem pole
for men to read
in marigold
feathers and beads

as ***** clothes
on the line.
I was strung out
from the ***** and lime.
And so, as the tree
I grew green with pine.

He Strung me
as plastic beads
on a string.
But he didn't tie a knot
at the end.
So, I fell off
scattered all over the floor.
Rolled under the bureaus,
and straight out the door.

He Stung Me
as a winged hornet
after he sang to me
sweet sonnets.
And not just once
but over again.
And still I called him
a close friend.

He Wrung me
as a washcloth.
Squeezed ever last drop
till I lay dry and limp.
How I hate
that I'm just a simp!

to dry. I withered
on the line. The crows
they shat on me. The cat
scratched at my fleeces. Dust

blew in my creases. The wind
whipped me like cream. The sun
not once did gleam. I turned
a spotted grey. The sky spit

me with spray. I waved at the moon,
swimming like a loon in the black sea
of the night, in the shadow of the old
streetlight. My buttons popped like

corn. My sleeves and collar
torn. My stitching all unraveled,
like I've travelled to many shore. But I
rotted like an apple core after I fell.

with ivy.
So, I decided to climb.
But it wouldn’t hold my weight
So, I slid back down
at a speeding rate.

He hung the moon
with rope cheese.
So, I decided to take a bite.
But soon got full
and lost my appetite.

He hung the moon
with horsehair.
So, I decided to make a braid.
But through each twist and turn
I swayed.

He hung the moon
with an olive branch.
So, I decided to give him
another chance.

like trapped dirt and hair in
the floorboards of a musty attack,
crackling like a phone full of static. Eyes
slot machines in dollar signs

bright green. I couldn't get over;
he was mixed like a box of Russell
Stover. As a turtle I was ready
to snap. Running like sap out of

the maple tree I fell and bruised
my knee and ticker. As the years drew on
I grew sicker. But I hung in there with
my scabs without keeping tabs.

I’d like to strangle! If only I bought
a wide-tooth comb to pull out
the knots that made a home
in my hair, then I’d shed him
as fleas in a quick sneeze.

He is the Trash
I should have put out last night. But I
was red-eyed and tired. Everything
expired and smelled like rotten eggs, moldy
cheese and sour grapes.

He is a Molotov cocktail
I shouldn’t have mixed. But then
I was fixed on him. He blew up in
my face. And I splattered like cake batter
with the beater on high. Stuck to the ceiling
and dried. None can scrape me off -
with only a wet cloth.

hung over her. And every rain
she weathered the pain. A
bobblehead, nodding yes,
a saggy mess, hung as

a wet, wrinkled dress on
the wire. The pigeons drop
their bombs on her. She ***** as
a loose shutter outside his

window in the breeze. He hid
the sun under his pillow, catching
the rays from the skylight
in his bedroom. Shining as a flashlight

inside her womb.  The two married
in June. She, the outsider pressed
as cider from the apples
in his eyes.  She cries in amber because

he shakes her as a tambourine.

at my home. Flung out of his rancid
tongue. One by one they stuck together
just like tar to feather. So, I build a wall  
with his pejoratives that grew like

fast-acting viruses. Up to my neck,
he still flung them. Couldn’t let him
deck me. Like a woodpecker pecking me,
till I'm covered in holes. But now

my house is behind a wall of stone,
tall as me. Blocks all out, doesn't let me
see. Is it he still standing
behind the stones? Or at the locker

of Davy Jones? All is quiet now 'cept the hoot
of the old screech owl, the honking overhead
from flying fowl. And the ripple from the lake
is just the swimming of a drake.

with kindness. Sang
me a song. Flowered me
in rose petals and smiles
with shoulders mountains

strong.  Skipping hours,
like stones, day after day. My umbrella,
when showers turned this blue sky
to grey. Spoon fed me honey

dripping from his tongue. Painted
me green. Made me feel young, like
a babe swaddled and swung in
a cradle ladled in hugs. So high on

a pedestal, wearing white gloves. I clung
to him like a tight sweater. Clung so tight
I lost all my feathers. I couldn't fly. He killed
with kindness. And dropped from the sky.

mating. The way his tongue wrapped
around mine put me in a trance
that blind me to his snake-like moves. He
shot venom from the moment that he

entered. Our lips sealed like a vacuum. His
hands took other action, like a chopper coming in
for the landing on my pad. I’ve never known
a kiss like this. Other men flick their tongue like

a Bick as if they were writing a reminder of
what to pick up their wife when they went
shopping at the market. Even as a writer I never
appreciated this. I still long for the coil-snake kiss
that only he could give.

waking me from the longest
night's slumber. Peeling my clothes
off like a cool cucumber. This buzzing
in my ear. His wavy jet-black hair. Swimming

in ocean eyes, the size of apple pies. The waft
of cinnamon is my insulin. But a man with
violet cotton shirt and cufflinks the color of
rose pink is an eidolon that swam off

like a swan in the raining pale
grey dawn. But in this head, he smokes
of feather silky strokes. The bumps on
a goose. This man I can't shake

loose. I've not of him to hold as the years
grow me old. The girl in me died dancing
a whirl on a rainbow slide, falling off
a cloud just as her eyebrows.

footprints on my breast
walking all over my chest
with his wall-to-wall grin. His heart
is made of tin.

His left
whispers inside my head
banging against my bed
making me flip-flop all night. His eyes
are closed tight.

He left
me drowning in a puddle
after floating in a bubble -
that burst.

I left
in a hearse.

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

standing as a fountain
with water dripping from my
hair. He just stood there. He said
“lousy weather we’re having”

with a smirk as wide as his
driveway. He didn’t invite me in,
though I drove a long way to see
him. Something shut off inside

me, standing alone in the rain
while he rushed off inside to
get changed. It’s that feeling of
neglect when you don’t have no

self-respect. I went back to my car,
carrying my heart in my hand. I put
the car in low, the same mood I was,
in without noticing, until I was driving

for awhile and it started jerking. I was
badly hurting and rushing off to the liquor
store to get the ***** to help ease the
rage that was building up inside of me. I

drove off silently.

his notes and the blanket. He was the
unconventional sort. I’ve been in
his house. I’ve stripped for him naked. He wrote

a paper about it. If you want it ask me. I’ll email
it to you. It’s on a file in my computer. The notes
of our sessions were mesmerizing. I read them as one reads

a thriller, that has you on the edge of your seat. You could
land in the hospital if you swallowed the words –
they would get you high. Swallowed too much and you need

your stomach pumped out. This was the guy
who did couples counselling with me and my other
psychologist, who I loved to F**K . He was his patient too. And if

that doesn’t confuse you. I don’t know what will. He called
me several times on his vacation. We talked about shooting stars
and the constellations before I had to run off to the john because

I was purging for my colonoscopy the next
morning. He called in-between the flux. We didn’t discuss
much just shot the ****. Oh, pardon the pun. I didn’t mean it.

in bed, with the covers up to
his head. It was a drowning
accident. His parents were distracted,
now they are impacted. She screams

sitting in her wheelchair pulling
out chunks of her hair. She'll not
walk again. And she'll not remember
when she did. There's another

kid in the next room wearing
a breathing tube. He grunts just
like a pig. His father doesn’t give
a fig. He never visits him. His mother,

frail and thin. My son looks the same. But
he doesn’t remember his name. He lost
a big part of his brain. This is how it
is. None of them asked for it.

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

no darker
than a winter afternoon
a long winding road
without a single abode

Hell is
no hotter
than your mother’s plugged in iron
the mouth of a hungry lion

Hell is
no further
than your subconscious mind
your dreams and past combined

Hell is
no different
than the bane
of your existence

beneath the Earth
in a fiery pit
with lapping flames
brains and spit
crawling with blood-
******* leaches
it’s at the office
and on the beaches

Hell isn’t
a red-caped devil
with pointed ears
popping blood vessels
he wears jeans
and drives a car
you see at the local bar

Hell isn’t
after death
as you take a last
drawn breath
it’s day after day
getting up
going to work
getting paid

which you am I talking
to today? Is it the one behind
the door or the one in front
of me? Or don’t you know

that I know about the one
I cannot see? I know about your
Twin. The one who looks just
like you but acts completely

different. This you says this. That
you does that. The only thing is
they never match. It’s a nice game of
charades you got there! But I don’t think
it will last.

Hello’s Pain

A beginning has to
end. When you leave
my friend, as you turn, I split
in half. I mask the pain

in a laugh. This heart is
broken. For every word said
a dozen not spoken. I fail over
and over. Some things for me

haven't closure. This I picked up
from mama -
Every life has some drama.
I'm walking through a stage

carrying my props. Weeping
in the backdrop as the players
pass. I stand to drain.
Goodbye’s pain.

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

staring at me through the screen
with eyes as dull as toddler’s scissors
holding up his head with his hand
slouched in the chair like a sloth
hanging from a branch
not a morsel of new talk
just leftovers from the last

I didn’t squeeze another drop out
we were flattened as an old tube of toothpaste
that you roll up at the bottom
not to waste
you didn’t have another
and when you reach the top
no more is left to squirt out of the hole

he’s listening. His eyes
are slats that overlap like venetian
blinds. But I’m a crayon. And I’m
coloring outside the lines.

He looks like
he hears the echoes
from my lips.  His ears
don't slip on the ice. And we've rolled
this dice more than once or twice.

He looks like
he's up for the drill. His head
is filled from music; he holds in his
hands. But I’m tired of the carousel. Riding
a horse that doesn’t touch ground, circling again
round and round.

as a lion urinating on a tree.
His scent sprayed all over me.
Has me restless as the wayward
wind, blowing in and out again. I don't

see him, touch him. But I breathe
him in the crisp morning air, in the sun's
hot angry glare. I don't hear him, haven't
in years. But as clouds heave their

billowing chest I sing out loud
like robin redbreast. I sing a song
of spring when we were just a foolish
fling. But the winters have passed,

hanging icicles of glass above
the eaves. I swear they'll stab me
if I sneeze. My fireplace lies dark
and cold. The lines of mine are

dusty rolled. They sit moldy in
the old fruit old. I don't eat them as I did
in younger years. I just breathe them
and get high. I'm a caged butterfly.

little as a fiddle in an orchestra
of double bass. As little as a broken
piece of glass that fell off his chandelier. I
cried ice-buckets of tears. He turned me

into sawdust/then swept me up
as fluff on his floor. I was no more
than a speck on his spectacles that he
wiped off with a cloth and tossed in

his drawer. I stuck to that cloth
like a moth to the flame. I burned without
the fire like a rainy day in Spain.

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.