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?

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.

I give my all.
No less.
But my all
is far from best.

I take nothing.
No more!
Because nothing
is near the worst
of practicalities.
That is my reality.

is wanting some of you,
hoping not to ask for more
than my fill. I know you're
taken. But this love

we share can't be denied. It
makes our time together have
purpose because it's so limited  -
but my dear the rest of my week

seems worthless, because the sun
only shines from your smile. And the
stars only glow in your eyes. And I
only know this moment -
locked in your arms tonight

that I ignored
stood out
like the crimson cape
of the matador. And every

sword
he flung -
I ignored the
barbed edge

that stung.  I charged
ahead as I bled. Was it
pomp and circumstance
that led me to

this deadly dance? Was it
brawn that made me
float just like a swan? And as he
took a bow, standing straight

for the crowd
of his fellow men
was it I that then
saw the flag
raised again?

and you’re plain, so smart
you borrowed every girl’s heart, including mine
but this time this one’s wiser

the hurt made it stronger
it will no longer wander where the eyes take her

where the heart rakes her over castles in the clouds
both feet are on the ground

cheers
from wanton dears
that burst from my ceiling
in a downpour
I locked in my bedroom drawer

All those
kisses
that snuck through
the window
in chilling whispers
I tucked under my pillow

All those
dreams
that smoothed over me
in Chantilly cream
I stored in the floorboards

All those
lies
dancing fireflies
that lit the night
I ignited with gasoline
and built a bonfire
on his smoke screens

as a baby was my
index finger. Wrapping
your tiny fingers around it
snug. I fell in-love with

the squeeze of your
touch. I was amazed by
the strength of your
hand, how it curled tightly

like a strand of hair. And your soft
little nails looked so pale. And now
with that same hand you can pick
me up.

When my dear, did you
grow up?

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.

I am,
what I
do. It
self-
soothes. I
spawn
into
flat screens
carried through
media
means.
And
seen through-
out. Only
in
that way
am I
part of
something
else.

is something I am,
not something
I do. I’m alone inside myself
even when I’m with other

people. Alone with my thoughts
and fantasies, alone with my fears
and discrepancies. No one seems
to understand the places that

I travel in my mind, the unreachable
corners that are hard to find. So, I smile
at them and nod and pretend to go along -
on the outside anyway. But I notice most

people don’t want to reach deeper. And I would
just about do anything to bring someone
into my space. But I do fear they wouldn’t travel
well, judging from my past overtures –
not too many got further

I dip in my bowl of juxtaposition
to see what I got swimming. I stir the letters
around with my spoon. I look for the headers. Wait
for the broth to cool. Just when I find A, the B

is somewhere underneath. And all that floats
up top is X Y and Z. I grow very angry because
my stomach is hurting. It's myself that I'm serving
and because of this I got burned. And cut on the

hand with the lid of the can. Still puzzled I try
to find the right word in a free-form style. But I can and
do not. And because I can't smile. This all brings
back painful memories. And I think to myself the letters
just tease.

I’m numb
in a rage
next I’m locked inside my head
as a bird in a cage
I’m wistful
fitful
then I’m broken down
exposed
I’m morose
Gross
a cut-up
a joke
a scandalous wanton
a vagabond
a hoax
a yegg
dreg on the bottom
an ***
a sozzled ****
full of *****
most times
I do not know
who
or what
the ****
this is
a pixilated
titillating
enigma
is this

you don’t need me
to set yourself free
you just gotta cut
the cord that’s been giving you

rope burns for so long
by tugging and wringing
your body against all these things
that’d been holding you back

and you’ve put everyone
under attack for your prison
except you are the warden
so you hold the key

and only you can unlock
the steely bars
which are narrow slits
that you see the world from

and you lose your grip
because you’re so scared
that this has become
your home

and you know what they say
that a man’s home is his prison

just a face
of crimson cheeks
and painted lips
that seldom speak
wearing thick spider lashes
that flashes a smile?
And when it's washed off
it hangs on cloth
the painted guile.

Am I
just a body
of bouncing *******
pressed in a tight sweater
with legs dressed in black leather
wearing red stilettos
like white trash from the ghetto?

Am I
just a child
underneath my clothes
that strikes a pose for men
and weeps with paper and pen
in lines I rhyme and send?

Everything
the lies and guise
went straight to my head
you took it back
Every lovely thing you said
Every lovely piece I read
Every lovely day that fled
Every walk in the park
Every talk in the dark
Every embrace
Every blush of my face
said it didn't count
so all the years amount to not
but drunken nights that taught me
you were a mistake
I had to make

to dance
when the music stops
to fly
when I cannot hop
to cheer
when you haven't a thing to cheer about
to try
when I’m in doubt
to rise up
when I'm knocked down
to smile
when I'm wearing a frown
to see
beyond today

I seldom rarely treasure
just a moments pleasure.
But what we have right here,
In an instant could disappear.

I've come to really appreciate,
special times one can't recreate.
All the firsts that we go through,
can never be restored to new.

A sweet and innocent first kiss.
First steps your baby don't miss.
Those first words baby spoken.
First love, a tender heart open.

I don't want to jump ahead!
I want to stay here instead.
I know soon it will all be gone.
A moment don't last for long.

Moments become memories.
Never to be as keen as discoveries!
They're all that's left of what we had.
Kinda makes one feel sad.

So please do me this favor.
Take a moment; let us savor.
Let not us rush it past!
By God it goes too fast!

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

wears ties and suits
flowing skirts
and high-heeled boots

A monster
sits in swivel leather chairs
writes detailed reports
and takes the stairs

A monster
daily punches the clock
drinks their coffee
and makes small talk

A monster
smiles bright
destroying lives
sleeping sound
without contrite

A monster
doesn't live under your bed
in the closet
or in your head

I cut out pieces of myself to fit in.
I wasn’t me; I was someone else’s twin.
I was a duplicate ran through the copier.
Looking as the rest, maybe a little sloppier.

I didn’t know who I was anymore.
I wasn’t sure who I was doing this for.
I wanted to be me, whoever that was.
I wanted to fit in for no reason, just because.

I wanted to be loved, but at what cost?
Those pieces I cut out got tossed.
I looked in the mirror and what did I see?
An abbreviated version of what used to be me.

isn’t nine to five. There are no vacations
or sick leave time. The paychecks are
spotty and slim at best, unless you get
famous. And that hasn’t happened

as yet. It’s a lonely life when you
work alone. The bottle is company for
a little while. But it doesn’t make you happy. It
just subdues your worries for a couple

of hours. I wouldn’t recommend this
life to anyone. But I didn’t choose it. It chose
me incredulously. And yet I follow it blindly,
like an abusive lover. It hovers over me. But I

know in my heart I can have no other. So, I
adhere to it religiously. But there’s demons
in this. The blackness sits like a cloud of smoke
on my breast. People recoil when they find out –

treat me as if I’m a louse. And sometimes I think
that I am. But I still spring back to life again.

You can live it up
fill it up
with mistakes
and woes

And when you can’t clear it
of its clutter
you get another
And -

Live it up
fill it up
with mistakes
and woes

And when you can’t clear it
of its clutter
you get another
And -
so it goes

Girls were -
Men were -
Oh, you’re a holiday, such a holiday
Millions of eyes can see
Yet why am I so blind
Didn’t need no welfare state
Everybody pulled his weight
When the someone else is me
It’s unkind; it’s unkind
Fifty dollars paid the rent
Freaks were in a circus tent
If the puppet makes you smile
If not then you’re throwing stones
Guys like us we had it made
Those were the days

jumping

track skips
the notes. A broken song
cut-off by the arm. I see
the scratches left behind of

the years turning
on the same turntable. I put it on
over and over, as my pajamas. Sang it in
my sleep. Played it as the night

grew black/as I lost count
of sheep. They all wear
down eventually. Lose their sharpness
in the darkness, and replaced

with a substance, running
through my teeth. Flip-flopping
in my esophagus like my sandals
on the beach.

Void the space where I was.
Yes, where I was.
But I was there long enough to seep in.
I was there long enough to fill the holes.
Some say, I was there long enough to do the damage.
And as a result, I am.
I am in them.
Therefore, I take up space.
I am not nil.
What was nullified is valid still.

the other day, suddenly. He was
younger than me – in his early
fifties. He just posted a picture of
himself in a Pat’s t-shirt pre-game,

cooking dinner. I haven’t seen him
in decades. And now I’ll finally see him
face to face at his wake. He’ll be lying
down instead of slapping me a high-

five. He’ll be quiet now, instead of
telling me ***** jokes or playing his drums that
shake the house. There’ll be no raunchy gifts
in my messenger, nothing to make me laugh

at early in the morning before my
bath. I never called him, though he wanted
to talk. I never reached out much to him. He was
a friend who was always there, except now

he isn’t. I didn’t  stay late enough at
the New Year’s Eve party several years ago
until he came home from work to see him. I was
very tired from drinking. So now I will finally see

him at last, laid out in his casket –
preserving a chuckle just for me, because
I have to go on in this crazy world. But he
is free.

Rest in peace John

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.

Poetry doesn’t pay the bills.
**** and *** will.
***** and hiney
on a waist that’s tiny.

They’ll throw their money
on someone’s honey.
None read. It’s a chore.
They’re closing down the bookstore.

The greats die great.
The unpublished will wait
til their ***** turns gray.
Turn the channel to Bobby Flay.

The only cherry that doesn’t shrink
is the cherry floating in her drink.

Another Fifteen

Exhausted, chasing little people all day at the
Small Fry nursery school made me want to come home
and take a nap in the afternoon. The second job I wasn’t on my feet, working behind a desk. Typing on a keyboard until my long,

polished nails chipped. Fifteen pounds added on, hugged
my already curvy hips. But it was fun dressing up in
skirts and high-heeled shoes, fancy blouses with silk buttons, and wearing perfume. When the lay-offs came I stayed home

all day, peering into my refrigerator out of boredom. I put
another fifteen pounds on. And added to the last fifteen, I looked like a pudgy, Italian girl all of five foot two in bare feet,
with no shoes. This is when I switched from skirts to sweet-pants

and long tees  that covered my derrière, almost down
to my knees. I was trying to get pregnant. But my ovulation was
off.  So I went to the fertility doctor. And he gave me some drugs that put another fifteen pounds more on my already-tudball

frame. I was ecstatic; after two cycles I got pregnant! Went and bought baby furniture and cleared out a room. But it wasn’t meant to be and I miscarried. I dove into a deep depression over losing baby Sarah, and ballooned up to one-hundred and seventy-five,

after yet another fifteen pounds were added to my hide. I wouldn’t leave the house. No one saw me that fat. On my small frame I looked a mountain and felt as a wide-end Mack. No one believes me when they see me today how much I struggled with my weight.

Sometimes the emptiness
is so large it can fill up all the holes
in my backyard. Not too long now
until its happy hour. I drink alone. I can't

afford to go out to the bar. So, I'll  make
a toast to  my helpful friend without
a face, the one who never questions anything,
only gives its full attention. The one who's

always there to greet me the moment
I walk through the door. This depression
makes it harder to function. It's so heavy
I give it its own space on the couch. I even talk

to it. But it mostly  keeps to itself. It sits
with me, more than I can say for anyone
else. And it sees my ugliness. But I'm grateful
I no longer have to pretend. It quells the fear

of the nightmares soon to come. The flames
lick my body as if I were an ice-cream
cone. And then I melt into a pool of empty
dreams. This goes on several times each night -

only to unfold into another lonely day. The
calendar marks the month and number. But
to me it's all the same. The only thing to
change is the weather. And that's much the same

too. In summer it's hot. In winter's it's cold;
et cetera, et cetera. It's either shorts or a sweater.

wake up in an empty bed
go into the bath
where the moldy tiles shiver
and the mirror laughs
at my body
as I quiver
when I step on that blasphemous scale
that insists I’m this weight
I appeal!
Oh! whatever
maybe if I **** out the *****
from last night I might flush
a few pounds
from this belly
I grab a towel
it clings to
the rack in disgust of the thought
of it being wrapped around
me like cellophane
then I go in the kitchen
to get some much-needed coffee
and spot me a few dozen ants
that are surrounding a crumb on the floor
as the cat’s about to pounce on
the bug **** I think of my English muffin
that’s burning away in the toaster oven

No lips pressed tight
No burning candles bright
No heartfelt love professed
No reason to get dressed
Another lonely night

today. A celebrity, the old folks
in the nursing home, a baby that could
have had a bright future, a doctor
on the front-line. I wonder who will

be next. Your guess is as good
as mine. This virus doesn’t waste any
time. Today we say goodbye to John
Prine. But the Patriots are flying supplies

in with jets. And the shortage of ventilators
are a threat. If this continues there won’t
be any room in the hospitals. There setting
up tents in Central Park for the overflow. It

look like a scene from Mash, long
ago. Some think this is set-up by Trump
to protect kidnapped children from the deep
states. People these days are more delusional

than ever before. And more polarized
than the north and south pole. I lost friends
over this that insist that it’s all a hoax. Denial
is the first stage in grief – so many are in disbelief.

smiling with porcelain
teeth. Fluttering lashes and
dancing eyes. Making ladies

wiggle with butterflies. Skipping from
gal to gal leaving a trial of buzzing
curls, whirling his coattails. Taking off

he flies. The days of not are nigh and
growing pitch as night. The women
with stitches in their sides now all

crashing from the ride. The price of
the high is to land with open eyes.
Stand with untethered ties.

isn’t just about
waiting. It’s about wonder
and want. Precisely not knowing,
filled with the desire to. Leaving

room for fantasy. Nothing is
as it seems. Nor should it be. The experience
itself is cluttered with expectation.  Then
leaves in its wake exaggeration, which can

work in one’s favor or not. I drove with
a load full of wonder and want. And carried
the clutter to you. When I arrived at the experience
I threw up my hands and boohooed.

The squirrel, he scrimmages
to find a hidden nut,
to fill up the hole
in his hungry little gut.

He delves quite feverishly
in his absented minded way
looking for that last little acorn
that hopelessly gone astray.

He sometimes scurries up
an old oak tree
hyper vigilant to sudden movement
that could interfere with his binging spree.

Dressed in formal grey
He's a furry ball who's spry.
Our persistent little chap
got quite a roving eye.

He searches far and wide
for his underground treasure.
And holds fast his lot
with each careful measure.

As he ravishes each scrumptious
hardy bite
his cheeks fill up fast
as he packs it all in tight.

And I think to myself,
what a peculiar scene!
Enjoying his antics,
as he enjoys his cuisine.

is pressing on my shoulder
like a large mountain cat
has its fangs dug into the flesh of my neck
like a vampire bat

Anxiety
is scrambling my brain
causing my feelings to become exceedingly flat
has me torn and soiled
like an old door mat

Anxiety
has me bent over
like Quasimodo, the deformed hunchback
has my thoughts disjointed
as if I were pulled on the rack

Anxiety
has my knees buckling
like an earthquake leaving the ground a crack
has my head nailed to the wall
like a gold-plated plaque

There’s never enough money
The kids need this and that
The baby’s nose is runny
The tire got a flat
There’s a friend’s funeral to attend
Another’s in a crisis
You can’t believe how much you spend
weekly on the groceries

Your hair is getting thinner
Your waist thicker
You get heartburn from the dinner
You can’t hold your liquor
The years are flying by real fast
while you’re moving slower
They don’t build things to last
any longer

the apple tree
when it’s bearing fruit
and bright green leaves.
But come the winter
when branches are bare
you don't notice them there.

Anyone can love
the azure sky
when the golden sun
hangs so high.
But come the clouds
that brings the rain
you complain.

Anyone can love
a baby girl.
When she’s cooing
and smiling
she’s out of this world.
But when she cries and clings
you cut the strings.

What would you do for it?
You’re nothing without it.
You need the nods, the thumbs up, the applause.
You’re fractured and vain,
timid and lame.
Hand it over for their disposal.
When they say no drink down the pain.
You never had it; did you?
Sacrifice yourself for the moment.
Fool yourself with your blasphemy.
Be an *** for the world to see.
But never be ordinary.
Trade in your friends.
Stop
at
Nothing

dissolves soon as it hits
the sidewalk. A streak of saline
on the window runs down
as the wind blows. A river

of teardrops make a water
bed. As night passes the baton
the river turns red. Red as
the African sunset. Fast and low

as a Chevy Corvette. Weeping
as a willow. The stain on
the pillow is the shape of a butterfly.
If only it fly off taking with it

the rain, the crystal fountain
of pain. In the day it is squeezed
into cubes and freezes as bones
on the *****. Only taken out again
in the hands of drinking men.

People are fair-weather. No surprise
we’re not together. All the ones that
snowed me owe me the cost of
my sanity. The anguish and vanity

of having dreams. The wind blows
hot and cold. I always seem to run against
it. They say I am relentless. I’m just sick of
being defenseless as a puddle after

the rain. When I get stepped on, I splash
the ******* up to their *****, so much I make
them go home and change. Unlike a weathervane
I never show which direction I’m going

in. Why would I? I like to keep them
Guessing. Like a thermometer I go up and
down. I’m Mercury. I expand with heat. I can
crack the ice with a look. Burn with a word –

fog glasses until they’re blurred. I’m the
mist. You’ll easily get lost in me. I’m an
apostrophe. And you’re a page that I’ll write
on with a multicolored crayon.

April Showers

stalled the stalwart
when she rang
May I say -
it took you away
to June. You played

a different tune
July, I cried
I did not know this song
August you were

gone/No phone call
No reply
September, I remember
you came back to say goodbye

the kind that’s been carved
by the kids in our backyard. Elaborate
scenes were etched in our flesh. But
after the holiday had passed, we were exposed

to the cold, long black nights outside. So, we
withered and died. But somehow survived
by holding onto the seeds. We kept them dry
in a sealed jar inside. We stored them there

until the late spring. And then we planted them
Again.
Up rose a new baby, that wasn’t the
same as the old sibling. But was stronger

because
it had lasted the winter of our discontent. And though
not innocent this time we knew it would survive –
Always.

Because we would hold onto the seeds.

on a log? A protruding
lump hogging space. A deformity
without a face. A gnarly mass
surrounded by grass.

Are you a bump
on a foot? Do you stick out
and can’t stay put? Is it hard to
walk in your shoes? Do you
easily bruise?

Are you a bump
on the ground? Not noticed
you don’t make a sound. Men step
on you with their shoes. After they go
you’re yesterday’s news.

Are you a bump
in the wall? Do they cover
you up with a painting? Is it
dark underneath the wooden
framing?

Are you a bump
on a cloud? Puffing out
and loud! A sky of cotton *****
rocking and rolling. Knocking them
out as the pins in bowling.

her wishes? Because she doesn’t
always know what’s in her best
interest? Because she might be testing
you. And you could fail!

Are you afraid to grant her
permission? Because if you give her
an inch she’ll take a mile. And she’ll only
expect more the next time!

Are you afraid to grant her
authority on the subject matter? Do
you have the bases covered? What will
it be that you’ll discover if you let her think
that she knows it? A smart aleck is she who
has the situation set ups so nobody wins.

Are there holes in your face?
Are you cut into an expression
you can never erase –
like the joker
Or do you go around wearing
a poker face?

Does the candle shine out
or shine in?
Have you too much wine?
Lived too much sin?
Are you for decorative purposes
or for shedding some light
Are you versatile?
or only good for one night.

with me
or in a
fantasy? I see
your body

next to mine,
but your thoughts
are out of line. Your
head isn’t connected

to the event. It’s floating
on a string attached
to someone else’s
hand. And if I cut it

you’ll be gone. Still, keeping
you while someone’s
holding the other end I
cannot apprehend. And I

won’t do it for long. You’re
more with her than with
me. And there’s no room
in this for three.

I have not faced
your cold stare.
You can’t be traced.
Please come here.
These words get laced,
entangle and snare.
So, this I based
my deepest fear.
I acted in haste.
So, I bear
a life that’s chaste.
It’s not fair.