isn’t your make-up.
It’s that you make-up
with people that do
you wrong.

Beauty
isn’t your look.
But how you
look at the world.

Beauty
isn’t your figure.
But that you’ve come to
figure out
that beauty starts from
the inside/out.

isn't
b
o
t
t
o
m
l
e
s
s

Why do you write
Why do perform ****
Why don’t you get a normal job
One outside the home
Because
Why do you style your hair big
Why do you wear so much make-up
Why don’t you dress your age
Because
I only live by my own standards

they locked down my mother-
in-laws nursing home. Yester-
day they found her on the floor.

Because of Covid
Europe closed their
borders to the US. My guess is
I won’t see Paris.

Because of Covid
I’m now a ***-
worker. I can’t expose myself to
this virus from posing **** in
videos. Guys throw their money
at *** and ****.

Because of Covid
people are dying. Many
are not buying this. They say
the virus is fake –
as fake as Black Lives Matter?

there was you. You were my
sun and my moon. When you pulled
away I replaced your warmth and smile,
your love and understanding with

a bottle of 100 proof. Now I'm deep in over
my head. And you're here again. But I
have a new lover that I turned to
when you ran for cover. You let me

down profoundly. And ***** was
there during my breast biopsy. And when
I needed a friend ***** was there again. So,
maybe this is a case of  a little too late.

the door
he stands
wood and frame
glass and nobs

Behind
the mask
she strains
cloth and string


Behind
the curtain
we are
no vaccination
or medication

Behind
this goal
this plan
on hold

until the numbers
drop
and this thing stops
can we go back to
the life we lived

he looks as wax.  He moves
and speaks with mouth
and feet. So, he’s alive. But I can’t
rub my hand on his stubble,

the growth poking out
from his morning shave. I can’t
smell the salt on his breath from
the pretzels he ate

between the calls, or touch
the softness of his navy sweater. I stand
still, holding myself together. He can’t hear
the flutter of my heart. He doesn’t hold me

in his arms. His hands sit deep inside
his pockets. And I’ll shoot off
as a rocket, landing on Mars. I don’t leave
my fingerprints on the glass. I won’t

stain the view of the kaleidoscope of gray
and blue.

of cherry wine,
and yellow tooth grin are penciled
in lines, and a wagging tongue
like a puppy's tail about to wail

from a mouth
that's swallowed back
**** and confusion to paint
an illusion of blithe. Cloaking lugubrious

eyes in dark shadow and spider
legs and weeping dregs from the bottom
of limpid bottles. This models a portrait of

a woman in hegemony. Not a woman
battling an enemy. A woman calling the shots,
not drinking them with a wedge of lime
and line of rhyme like withered roses on a stem.

The grass in my yard has met the blade
that bore its razor tongue for a shave.
Yet it still sprung up within a week
past the heels of my feet.
Be the grass!

Yesterday gone out with the trash.
Never to come back.
Today was beaten 40 lashes.
Soon its last breath shall be drawn.
Tomorrow has yet to be trod upon.
Be tomorrow.


Hate, the sting of a thousand ants
tapped dance on this delicate heart.
Cracked it open as an egg.
Love is the chic that emerged.
From a shell, a birth.
Be love.

for me, like Army
ready –
The reveille

Be ready
set up and going
washed and scrubbed
ready
like the anesthesia’s wearing
off

Be ready
like birthing –
I’m coming out
and it’s hurting

Be the Fruit

not the core
people throw out
after they’re done
chewing the flesh and
******* up
the juice

Be the News
not the paper
people throw away later
after reading God knows
whose truth
better off
being the news

Be the Trees
not the leaves
that fall off and
get blown by
the breeze
be sturdy
and be strong
and you’ll last
fir very long

for the successes.
But be there
for the failures too.
Anyone can love a star.
But who he is
goes beyond the trophies
sitting on the mantle,
or the degrees
hanging on the wall
or the money
or the title
that they call him.
It lies in his heart.

Be there
during the happy times.
But be there
for the disappointments
and heartbreaks.
Because they’ll be many.

Be there
to listen
without judgement.
But be there
when he shuts you out.
Let him know
the door is always open –
That’s what being a parent
Is all about.

They outgrow their clothes
and shoes.
But they don’t outgrow
their need for you.

as your petals
fall. Stand up tall

to the sun. Do not
bow your face, You

don’t have a fan
of violet. You’re shy. Let

all fall free. Your blanket
is the sky. No longer

attached. The appendages
are not your patch. Bare is

beautiful. It has a shiny
head. Some say bare is dead. But

it is not. The moon is bare. It
glows in dark.

No one appreciates what they see
every day. You write but no one reads
what you write anyway. All you
ever wanted is to leave your own special

mark on the world, an indelible one
that can’t come out in the wash of tears,
if there are any that even fall. Or maybe they’ll
only skim the surface of your soul

like someone in the bookstore
that goes past the shelf where your book
sits with all these classy ones next to it.

off. Like a limb with
gangrene, better to save
the rest of the body than
to be stuck with the diseased –

and so I shall release!

the sheets
the screams
the melodrama, the fights, up talking
late at night in firelit circles
that tigers are trained to jump through
the battles, the wounds, the baggage
overflowing garbage -
Who’s turn is it to empty it now?
Mine or yours
As crazy us as this -
I would never miss being between
the extremes with you

wearing flowing capes
flying in the air
they're nicer guys out of shape
sitting in a chair

Beware of sweet tongues
letters after names
the pounding of rolling drums
gilded paper in wooden frames

Beware of whispers
blowing in the dark
I like mine crisper
without a combustive spark

Beware of Smiles

because at times they mask honesty
and kindness with just a twist of the lips. A curling iron
makes spirals out of bone straight hair. But when
the wind comes blowing through, those ready-made

corkscrew strands unwind into their original flat,
limp selves again. Some smiles are patronizing. They have
a way of making you feel inferior. They mock you
with sweet words that look like sugar-coated candy but tastes

more like poison. It’s too late when you realize what you swallowed.  The harm is already done. Oh, the wiles
of them! Making you feel important. Making you do things
you wouldn’t do. It’s just guile dressed up in patent leather shoes

The sun is most admired
when it’s either rising
or setting. Beyond the
horizon I reach out to

yesterday; I long to
cling to my *****. Hold it as
its casting a silky figment
dancing far away

obscured by the land,
trees and mountains. I spread these tears
as a fountain to water the earth
in their chaste covert.

degree from the ivy league school
every woman says he's cool
big house sitting on the hill
big shoes for men to fill
big pedestal for him to fall
big breaks into small
big isn't big after all
once its down
its pieces

I come to you open and wide,
rolling as the great plains.
Knowing full well the brutality that touched
down here before.

After I took the brunt of the hit.
There is no shade. There is nothing standing
here between you and me
except the air we breathe, and plenty of space.

It’s not easy facing the unknown.
With my hairs ***** to the wind, honey wheat-fields
grazing. Black clouds overhead distill
into chocolate coffee. No more magpie dreams.

I’m drinking this soil after the flood.
Rethinking is toil, but necessary.
But still doesn’t make it any less hairy.
Yet, I’m willing to take the chance again.

Willing to transcend.
Totally immerse -
Open myself to a new universe.

I need a hug
that’s snug.
Nice and tight
feels right.

Hips gently touching.
hands clutching
around my neck.

Maybe throw in peck?

A Big Ole Bear hug
to show you care hug
One that takes a while
One that make me smile

Don’t pull away too fast.
I want the moment to last.

Let’s stand cheek to cheek.
There’s no need to speak.
When we’re close like this
I sure feel pure bliss.
Nothing could be better
than bodies wrapped together.

are those things I have
once a year to remind myself where
I’ve been
and where I’m not
going
I don’t blow out candles
my candles been blown out
all have extinguished
there is no more to light
I don’t need a cake
I need a pie in the face

with yellow fingers spread
and a chocolate cupcake for her head.
Blooming the month of June. In August
is her honeymoon. Rising in fields

of green the sunny face
of childhood dreams. Blowing kisses
in the wind/dancing with her native kin.
Making her brim in cherry lip

Smiles. Cornflower sky for miles.
The sweetest nectar for the butterflies
and bees. Growing in the garden/a midnight spree.
Tickling me from nose to knees.

This little *** of gold/noon day cup of tea
with her own complimentary leaves.
How did this name impel
into battery you befell?

An empty sac of
Genetic slush
That turned to mush
Inside of you

Never was
Never became
Why?
Because

Conceived
Without a name

A blip
You gave the slip

After I implanted
You flushed me out
No second chances

You mourn me -
In your sleep
In your dreams

I mourn me too
What I could have been
If I Grew

I want to be a blind melon
and have the bumble bee girl as my daughter
I want to laugh at the rain
lay face down in the puddles and drink the water

I want to be the red wheel barrel
glazed with rain water beside the white chickens
that way the world could be mine
I am ripe for the plucking and all the pickings

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

laughing in the snow
dancing in the rain
swirling in the wind
as a weathervane

Blue eyes
walking in the meadow
lying in a bed of purple flowers
caught in a reverie
wiling away the hours

Blue eyes
no one sees her pain
weeping in her hands
bluer than sapphires
deeper than the deep blue sea
standing in the fires of the evening

Blue eyes
no one hears her cries
as the church bells ring
out steps a wedding bride
smiling in the rain
every raindrop is a teardrop
running down her face
laughing at the crowd
she turns her back again

I could use a couple
of bookends to hold up
all these words. They're seams
are unravelling and they're toppling

over onto each other. The pages
are all yellowed and some I fear are
missing altogether. But it would
sure  make a nice presentation to have

them lined up straight,
even if the binding has loosened. And
there seems no use in acquiring such
support that persons easily abort.

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

Spent my life
set up
in a alley
waiting for men to
knock me down
Dead White Weight
The “thud”
as I hit the ground

Spinning like the arms
on a clock
rolling around
even when my arms
are together
I'm under the weather

When the caterpillar changes
its leaves its old life behind. Now it has

wings; now it can fly. The other caterpillars
either fly or they die. Some will change along

and become a butterfly. But the butterfly
doesn’t take notice of the ones left

behind. Either they’ll catch up or they won’t. And if
they don’t this world up here has much to offer,

incredible beauty and freedom
of movement, unrestricted for the uninhibited.

I’m uneven as the sidewalk
and just as bumpy too

Something’s growing underneath
and it’s starting to break through

I’ve grown some roots
further down

Their stronger than
anything that trod upon
this bumpy, uneven ground

It raises up
strong enough to crack cement

What a lovely sentiment
to have earth be stronger than matter
I never fell for the latter

Break-Ups are Sad

because so much is left
unsaid. So many plans
unfished. So many dreams
unfulfilled. So many days

left wondering will things
ever be the same again. And
what will I do now on those
nights I spent with you. Who

will understand me the way
you used to? Who will laugh
at my ***** jokes? Who will I
buy chocolates for on Valentine's

day? And what about the love
letters I wrote? What about the
love I still carry around in this
battered heart? What about

the pictures on my phone? What
do I say to my friends when they
ask? How do I stop myself from
calling? From mulling around the

house and not becoming a potato
couch? Or is that couch potato? Will
I compare everyone else to you? And
how can they ever measure up if I do?

and your face will wrinkle. You’ll
gain an inch or two around
the middle. Hair will thin. Thighs
will wiggle. Teeth will yellow. But words

are clean and never change with age. You can
take them right off the page as others have
done hundreds of years ago, while the body
is reduced to bones.

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

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

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

Broken
woman
will break you

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

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

Broken
Down
Build
Back up

with head lopped off
cracked is her plastic hair
laying in the corner
under the rocking chair

once was a princess
dressed in red satin
dancing pirouettes
in a music box
before she was flattened

Just a figurine
of a woman
with painted crimson cheeks
in a mirrored prison
walled in felt
that did not recognize herself

Trinkets thrown in
tarnished
color faded
yellowed the varnish
memories evaded

But the music plays
the same song
without the tiny dancer
as the little stick turns
in the center

I’ll ride you, flat tires,
broken shift. Me and you baby,
off into the sunset.

I’ll ride you rusted,
with dented fenders. We’ll just pretend
er, that we’re something better.

I’ll ride you without the hubcaps. I got a
Nightcap of Black Jack that’ll have us
loose as the skin around your neck, Jim

I’ll ride you without a muffler, so when
You puff er, the noise won’t be heard
over the broken stereo, Joe

I’ll ride you with the stuffen comen
out of the cushions, and the brakes down to
the floor. We don’t need to stop. I’m not

getting off. Hold on John; It’s gonna be
a bumpy ride!

There’s no flowers
in this broken garden
just trellises of promises
that blew away
since you’ve left

the sunflowers cut their yellow
sullen heads
and the petals fallen off like mosquitos
come the frost
even the dandelions stopped trying
they’re just ornery sticks that ***** the parched grass
it’s turned grey as ash since you
went away and the apples

on the bough that once were well endowed
have fallen to the ground
like my ma’s
*****/everything stopped blooming
even the rain spits relentless
at the thought
of what was

Life has kept me seriously guessing
Haven't learned my lesson
There's things I should be addressing
Instead I'm always messin
with other stuff - enough!

I'm stuck on the same channel
Can't seem to move
Wearing my red and black flannel
I don't ever improve

You could say I'm in a slump
It's my comfort zone
Gotta brush off this dusty ****
I just gotta own
my **** - or quit

not bubble brains. I’d like
myself on a plane. It’s all
a numbers game
till the flesh wears out. Next

I’ll film “**** my mouth” This
ain’t no “get rich quick” It’s
a job made up of
******! Their heads

are their *****. A mask is like
a ******. None are happy to
wear it over their bit. But they like
the *** & ***!

crystal lavender tears
that melt as dewdrops
in honeysuckle fields. They’ve
cried them for years.

Buterflies cry
a kaleidoscope of colors
in patterns of green, blue, red
purple and yellow. They've cried
them over every gal and fellow.

Butterflies cry
in flits of beaming light
that dance in the shadows
of shimmering moonlight. They've cried them
all night.


Butterflies cry
all by themselves, spreading
their wings to cover their felt. Their tears stick
like glitter to all that they touch.

Butterfies cry not often but much.

for free. He painted sunsets. He
painted trees, rainbows, and
sparkling seas. The colors all

blinding. Dancing in the shadows of
velvet green.  Sliding on the lure of his
sheen. As a babe to the breast, pulling west

to wean. But arid as a desert without
the mother ****. And still wearing
the papery hull on this husk of wheat.

you rise and wipe that old
sleep out of your eyes she’ll be
having her first. You don’t realize
how much she hurts.

By the time
you look at your phone
she’ll be ******. The anguish is
unbearable to face alone.

By the time
you have your morning
shower she’ll be passed out on
the sofa. No one will be able to
rouse her. She’s pickled as the
herring you’ll have for lunch.

By the time
you read this -
she’ll be gone.
You’ll pick up the phone
but it will be too late.
Press speed-dial –

She’s no heart rate

friends with strings
or a casual fling

Call it
easy and nice
hot with spice

Call it
butterfly’s dancing
beautiful romancing

whatever it’s of -
don’t call it love

You make my head spin
in all directions. Nighttime is a game
of escapades. Even in my sleeping
I am thinking of your face. I am seeing

the long slant of your nose, the crisp line
of your mouth. Those chestnuts you call eyes
make me realize  that I can’t go
without. Tu-whit tu-whoo I call

outside your house on the bough
during a winter squall. I wait for you patiently
to pass by the warmth inside your window/house
my deliciously plum fruit - tu-whit tu-whoo

hit the snooze button
during this part?
Can switch the switch
to off?
Can I stand back
and watch?

Sometimes I
don’t want to get involved.
It doesn’t mean
that I don’t care.
It just means
that I’m tired of it all.

inside mother's womb
when my eyes were closed
to life's perils and doom? Can I
go back to the time before

time when I was just a thought
before one more line appeared on the
EPT. Can I go back before I was
me? Can I go back before the *****

swam up the tube? Can I block off
the entrance or poison the ****? Can I go
back before they met, when she was inside
her mother's womb? Can I go back to the time

her eyes were closed to life's
perils and doom?  Back to the time
before she was a thought! Before the
pregnancy test was even bought!

Without the cream in my coffee
it would be dark. Without sweetener,
it would be ****.

In this very dark place, I need you
to be my cream. Lighten up
my cup. In this acidic world I need you
to sweeten the ***.

It hasn’t gone down well since
you’ve been gone. I’m not the type
to take it strong.

when the circle circles
to nowhere
refresh
fix connection problems
you refresh
but it doesn’t solve your problems
the servers down
you go around checking this
to come up with no less
everything else is in sync
except the site you’re retrieving
relax, ok
check your breathing
it’s going to be one of those days
you can feel it
try again
before you appeal it
to the site master
tell him getting in
has been a disaster
and you’ve enough
call his bluff
listen snooki
I’m going somewhere else
with my cookies