the sheers
to cut you. They’ll
leave you bleeding
bare. And walk with their
nose tucked in their
hair.

Don’t give them
opportunity to lambaste
you, as if you’re a pig
on a spit. Be sharp! Snap
back at them with wit.

Don’t give them
a second chance. They
prey on your sympathy/strip you
of your dignity.

Don’t give them
an explanation. I don’t care if
their friend or relation. Put you
first. I can’t stand seeing
hurt.

ya
cryin on his sleeve
he couldn’t be ya
he’s the one
who gave ya the disease
just let him think
that things are going swell
the best revenge
is to lettem
think
ya
doing well

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

when I talk to you –
as if you’ve things

to do. Look at me as if I count
as the numbers on

the wall. Or don’t look
at me at all!

Don’t Look Back

Eat your tracks like
they were ice-cream,
not from the moose but only
from you. Laugh, laugh, laugh
until you drop dead. And then laugh
out loud again! Be the freak,
be the talk of the town. Why
care? Don’t let the world
get you down. Mistakes you will
make. That’s how you’ll learn. If you
take a wrong path, turn. It’s as easy
as mom’s apple pie. But still, people get
confused all the time.

Don't love her for her beauty.
In age skin wears rather thin.
Hair falls out, and a sagging
face produces a double chin.
Don't love her for mind.
In age it's sometimes forgetful,
not as sharp nor as refined.

Don't love her for her talent.
In age those precious gifts
can fade away.
What was so easy once to do
has now shown some delay.
Don't love her for her vitality.
In age we all slow down.
Her youth brought passion
and sexuality but...
In age it's hard enough just
to get around!

In sickness and health should
not only be for wedding vows.
In age we often get sick,
this you should expect and allow!
Love her for who she is!
The spirit never dies.
Comfort her when she's in need!
Wipe the tears that she cries.
Hold her hand through the hard times.
Be right there by her side!
That's what real love is.
And that, no one should be denied!

I’m a sawmill in the sky.
And I’ll cut you down to size
in eighths like apple pie.

Don’t overlook me
as a jumpy little flea
that is hidden in the hair
of your old grandmother’s chair.

Don’t contemplate
me as second rate.
I’m better than anyone.
Second to none.

like I’m the newspaper
that you’re done reading
for the day

like I’m the storm cloud
that hung over your picnic
and got in the way

like I’m yesterday’s fashion
that looks hopelessly tacky
on you today

up pennies off the ground
Pick up someone
whose been down.

Don’t pick
your nose in public
It’s rude.
Same with
your cuticles.
Pick a smile to wear today.
It will dress up a lonely face.

Don’t pick
a fight with someone
who challenges you.
Pick your words carefully
And use them sparingly

Don’t pick
the lint off your clothes
Pick a time to give your time.
You’ll see the glint
in someone’s eyes.

in him. He'll turn as
the weather. And shrink you
down as a wool sweater in
the wash. Toss you out as

as he flies off, flapping his wings,
like an albatross. Stormy as the sea. Scabby
as a dog full of fleas. He's a snake
crawling on his belly. Fake as

a pseudonym. Nugatory as
a broken limb. With shards in
the chardonnay he'll grind you
as a French pate'. Spreading himself

thinner than the air around
an airplane. Nosediving you till all
****** fluids are drained. Leaving a stain
on the carpet. All along, you were his target!

Don’t Preserved Me

like I’m a jar of jelly, jam or vegetables
sealed in a can. Don’t want to be a trophy on the shelf,
collecting dust along with everything else. I’m not
that expensive dress you wear on a special occasion,

then return to the store because it costs
a fortune. Maybe this sounds incredulous to you,
but I want to be used. Not gazed at or admired
from afar, like I’m a planet orbiting a star. Run over me

like I’m grass. Don’t worry if I get flat. Jump
into me like a puddle. Don’t worry you’ll get
your shoes wet. You can take them off later and dry them
on the radiator. Don’t treat me like I’m delicate

or fragile. There’s no sign on me
that reads “Do Not Handle” Please squeeze me
like I’m a tube of toothpaste. Roll me up and push
the last bit out until I foam in your mouth!

your dreams. Today seems like
a desert, tomorrow an endless sea. Only you
can change your reality. Don’t let it
slip away. Something will come along

and rob you when you’re looking
the other way. Start right now. It’s all you
have. You’ll figure out how. Fear is just a puff
of smoke from a burning cigarette. Don’t let

it dwindle down, become a stub of all
the should of’s. Invest your time. I let a man
rob me of mine. I’ll never get those moments
back. But I’ll plow ahead and cut new tracks.

as tempting as this may sound,
especially if that somebody did you
wrong. You must rise on your own. A prone
body is not a sturdy steppingstone.

dear, there’s no water shortage
and I don’t want to see your cheeks puff out
like water balloons
when your eyes dry as prunes

Don’t save your tears
for a rainy day
you can’t collect them like pennies
in a jar
or sip them like a cocktail
at a bar

Don’t save your tears
for fear that you’ll look
weak
or that
you’ll reek
sweat, salt and blood
or they’ll cut you
as a spud
layer you in the dinner casserole

release them
let them go

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

that’s offered reluctantly
that isn’t genuine
that could be turned back on you
that feels like an obligation
and don’t give
for the same reasons

with the sun
just to throw shadows at me
for fun
and then fade

Don’t tease me
with the moon
making out as two silhouettes
that waltz and spoon
and then hide in the light

Don't tease me
with butterfly kisses
fluttering red, orange and gold
whisper what bliss is
then go

not to cry. Let her streak
her black mascara until she’s lines
as a zebra. Let her nose gets stuffed as
a Christmas stocking. Let her voice
be raspy as an alligator’s when its head emerges
from the water.

Don’t tell her
not to hurt. To get over it. Let her
stay in her pajamas. Let her snuggle up
under the covers with a quart
of ice-cream. Let her greasy hair hang limp
as an old man’s ****

Don’t tell her
some cliché’ or how others have it
worse. If you’re going to tell her something –
tell her that you love her.
That’s all she needs to hear.

that I can't
I shouldn't
or I ain't
I wouldn't

The pendulum
on the clock knocked you
off your pedestal. The cake
you ate made your head

hit the ceiling. Swelled it
to the size of a hot balloon
air ride. You stretched me as
an elastic. And I snapped. So,

I'm jumping out of your basket -
that I can
and I should
I am
I would!

in an email or a letter.
Words alone –
lack emotion.
You can do better.

Don’t tell me
on the phone.
Voices carry.
I’m not alone.

Don’t tell me
in a text.
Are you crazy?
I’m perplexed.

Don’t ghost me.
That’s so lame.
Or write a post
about who’s to blame.

Tell me face to face.
Look me in the eyes.
Pick a time and place
without the mock or guise.

Don’t use spiteful words.
They have no appeal.

And don’t you ever –
tell me
how you think I should feel.

my poetry isn’t up
to *****. I’m published
in magazines. I dance in the
buff. Don’t want advice that I
didn’t ask for from some high brow
old, fat ***** that has an itch
in her ****.

Don’t tell me
not to sing. I don’t have a record
out. But I'm high when I laugh than
pout. I've my YouTube channel and hundreds
of followers that I make happy.

Don’t tell me
to put my clothes
back on. I'm paid for my ****. I've
a smoking hot body that I
adorn. And I’m rocked by it. It’s
******* lit!

what you’ll do.
Show me what you did.

Don’t tell me
that you’re first-class.
I’ll be the judge of that!

Don’t tell me
how hard and long you worked.
Show me the final result.
That alone should speak for itself.

it’s like sleeping.
They’ll be afraid to close their eyes -
that they might not wake-up
that they’ll drift off to become not.
Don’t tell them what lies beyond.
No one can.
Don’t promise them they’ll meet
the ones who have gone and not returned.
Or worse yet -
that the wrong will be punished
in a fiery pit
with a man dressed in horns.
Or they’ll come back
as a bird or a whale or a tree.
What you believe
don’t put upon them.
When they ask
say -
live each moment
as if it were your last day.

the pain will go away –
that’s a lie. Part of their identity
is entwined in their love. So, you could
say that part of them is dead

and the part of the deceased
is alive in them. But neither one
will be whole again. If there ever was
such a thing. Because we come

to each already broken. But I believe
the world is full of beautiful parts
that fit into each other. Some are very
different. Some are the same. The circle can

fit into the square. But the reverse is not
the same. If you’re lucky to find where you
fit and it’s taken away you may think
you will never fit again.  That’s an awful

thought. Maybe you will. And maybe you
won’t. But one thing for sure you will
never have the same exact fit as you
did before.

is it. If you’re on a cloud
you’ll come back down to earth. If you’re
on the ground don’t swallow
the dirt. I know they’ll be time

when you don’t want things
to change, and other times when you’ll
be fearing that things will stay
the same forever. Remember, nothing

ever will. So, don’t get complacent,
or too high that you’ll crash from the sky
when you fall. Cause you will. You can
hold onto memories. You can

hold onto pain. You can hold onto your
stubbornness so that you never allow
the change. You can be your worse enemy
or your best friend. You can make things

happen or sit and pretend. You can make
excuses. But you can’t buy back time. What
will you do at the end of this line?

your hands to your
face. Don’t shake hands with
your neighbor they say. Wash your

hands a hundred times a day. Why
not wear gloves? I’m sure you
could get a set that match that

pretty face mask! Don’t answer the
door when they ring. Make sure to
wipe down everything. Don’t leave

your house unless there’s a fire. I’m sure
you’ve stocked the pantry. Nothings yet
expired. You’ve got your computer

and phone. What else does one need
but to eat, **** and sleep?

Don’t Wake Her

from her slumber
Sleep’s the only peace she knows
She gets lost in her unconscious
Takes her places she’d never go

Don’t disturb her fantasies
Her childish ways beguile
Gets her through the rainy days
Paints a pretty smile

today! Go wash your face. Scrub
the dirt off. You can’t pile on more

of the same stuff. It’ll start flaking. You’ll
look messy. You’ll look like a vagabond

drinking Hennessy. Why don’t you
start over with a clean slate? Aren’t you

tired of wearing yesterday’s waste?

There’re more curves to the bends.
There’re more pieces of what’s broken.
Your holes are entrances for my love.
Your scars are burning stars.

You’re not stationary; you are motion.
Like a pendulum you swing.
I’ll catch all your tears.
And with your tears we’ll swim.

When we reach the end, we’ll fall over together.
Don’t know what that’ll bring.
It doesn’t matter.
Because if we break, we’ll blend.

Us together causes cancer
This relationship is a malignant growth.
Two emotionally crippled people that both had abusive parents
and so, became aberrant adults.

Our wounds connect as scar tissue that never heals
what it covers up. Both never knew what it is to love.
Looking in the mirror is two children
with welts and bruises
whose parents used them as punching bags
because they were frustrated and unsatisfied with lives, they chose.

You pluck the rose and crush its petals
beneath your feet when you meet the woman
that is your doppelganger and you bang her.
Let out your anger on someone who turns to you professionally
for help. Is it not a mystery that death pursues? Your heart
just couldn’t take the news.
Us together cause cancer

of birth. Wiggle and twist
your way out of the hole. As narrow
an opening, your flesh is slick. Your
body lithe. This makes for being blithe.

Do the dance
of independence. Step across the
coals. Feel your feet burn. They’ll harden
your soles. But you’ll build resistance. And with
a little persistence you’ll be rolling like
a barrel, joyful as a Christmas carol.

Do the dance
of love. Waltz as a dove. As you
prance through each lively turn they’ll be
lessons that you’ll learn. Earn yourself
a tango as you trip the fandango.

Do the dance
of age. Glide down the spiral
staircase. Change your pitch as a sliding
trombone. Don’t you sit as a mossy
stone. You’ll get rusty as old tin can. So,
be open as a caramel flan.

in Alaska? Go on and ask
her. But what does it
matter? You no longer have her.

Do they do that
in Boston? I get kinda
lost in these old time
rituals. So that’s the way it goes.

Do they do that
in Italy? I wouldn’t take it
literally. They talk with their hands
so, no one understands.

Do they do that
in Aruba? I heard you
got to **** her. She’s getting
old, Can’t you tell she’s moving
slow?

Do they do that
in Turkey? You get jerky
when you’re trying to be like
them. Stop all that pretend.

count the seconds
as she the years?
Do you
turn around
fast as a spinning top
so not to see
a drop
fall
as the rain
on the pane
streaking the glass?  
Do you
play the music loud
to drown out
the sound
in your head?
Do you
run
not looking back
at the scene
of the crime?
Do you
fill your time
as your desk
with clutter –
lower the shutters
in your window?
she’ll see you’re not home
but the car engine
is warm -
the only warmth
she can touch
and she naps
as a cat
under the hood
Do you
chop her up
as a piece of wood
The pile's growing bigger
but it's many months
til winter

your burdens like a dowry chest
filled with linen that you can’t
digest? Or do you carry it as
a satchel, with a ruler and an apple?

Do you carry
yourself like a chicken without
a head, butchered for the stew,
served with bread? Or do you carry
yourself as a tiger, fierce and determined
no matter what transpires?

as a cap on a wave
or starve off tomorrow
and limp through today?
Do you do the rituals out
of habit or lust? Do you shine as
a star or skim the top as
dust? Do you do as say? If it
falls on deaf ears it doesn’t count
anyway. Do you pretend to be
someone you’re not, even to
yourself? Or have you forgot? Do you
question the motive. Or never ask
why? Are you a December snowflake
or a firecracker in July?

only seeing it
in magazines
on shelves
in bookstores
or TV?

Do you wish that
you could be
shrunk
down in size
and climb
into the scene?

Do you hate the life
you’re living?
And all you do
is dream?

Welcome to
my reality

Or do you look at your neighbor
Nobody asks questions
Nobody does favors
Nobody looks at their neighbor
But they can tell you the length of their grass
And the last time a mover has passed

only in the winter
as I’m stripped of my red
cloak? When the yellows have broken
and scrambled like egg yolk? When I can’t blanket
you in shade. And my bark is sharp as blades?

Do you see me
only in early spring
when my buds are tightly closed
like a fist swinging in the air
and breaking someone’s nose?

Do you see me
only in late autumn
when my colors are bleeding out
and fallen to the bottom. And my nut plunks
someone’s head so loud it shakes the dead?

Do you see me
only in the summer
so green and much
younger? A haven for the thunder. When you
laid under me and fell asleep at my feet?

We’ve been over forever and a day.
There comes a time in someone’s life
when they can no longer stay,
when goodbye’s the only way.

And still, I think of you -
On rainy evenings when the sky’s grey
and the thunder claps in applause
for what was.

Those crazy nights lying awake
counting the lightening striking
wondering -

Do you think of me?
Do you hold me close in a memory?
On this rainy night
is someone holding you?
Will she become a memory too?

that you kept a clean house? They’ll just
shovel all your **** into bags and take it out
with the trash.

Do You Think They’re Going to Remember
your figure when you’re nothing more
than a bag of bones lying in a coffin? You’ll be
instantly replaced with someone new the next day.

Do You Think They’re Going to Remember
all the wonderful dinners that you cooked for
them when they were half starving? Maybe one
or two that were unusual.

Do You Think They’re Going to Remember
anything you said? They always had their headphones
on their head to block out your singing or composing
out loud. They won’t have to do that now.

What they’re going to remember is how
you made them feel, when you held them
when you loved them, when you made time to
be there.

in December? Naked and
bare. No colors at all. Stripped of
everything. No one making their home
on your branches. No one climbing
your trunk. Cutting you into logs
to warm their ranches?

Do you want to be the trees
in June? Green! Green! Green! With
babies chirping away. Providing shade
on a lazy day?

Do you want to be the trees
in October in bright, bold colors? A
work of art, raining orange, red,
and gold. Creating a delicate quilt
that unfolds?

as a clown
with a red smile
and make-up
a trick or two
to shake up
you from feeling down

Do you wear hurt
as a cloud
grey and pouring rain
making puddles
from the pain
you splash in
take a bath in

Do you wear hurt
as a lion
roaring loudly
pouncing on unsuspected prey
digging in claws
biting with jaws into the flesh
of the day

Do you wear hurt
as a tea kettle
simmering on the stove
till the heat underneath
makes you blow off steam
and you turn leprechaun green

that hang by a thread and
whistle. They punch through
the ceiling and swim in the sky,
spraying the clouds with red

dye. Looked on as losers
and frivolous folk they use
their reverie to poke holes in
the sidewalk till it sprouts beans

and Christmas trees with lavender,
the kind that makes those mortal men
slur. Be drunk on innocence of
a star that fell from above.

If you don’t plant them
they won’t grow. If you don’t
water them day to day they’ll
never break ground. If you

don’t shine your loving light
on them they’ll descent into
the shadows. You won’t see
them taking root. Just feed them

truth. I have a garden of
dreams. I planted late. So, I
must be patient as they slowly
develop. Give them plenty of

room and not get jealous minding
someone else’s garden. Let me attend
to my own weeds. And watch as
happiness is spread as fertilizer on my bed.

Why did you feel the need
to proceed with
a Cease and Desist?  Ironic,
was it yes! This I must confess –

I was more afraid of you.
Arriving at Children’s Hospital –
the famous one in Boston,
I waited in a room with picture puzzles and

Dr. Seuss spilled on all the tables. You were
no bigger than most of your captivating
audience, Provost. You took me to
a tiny room. We walked the long hall

of death. I felt high like on **** as we sat
at your desk. You turned to me
with uncertainty. The tics were jumping
in your eyes. My body wet, from the surprise of

a thousand rows of nails giving way to my son’s
squeals of meningitis and the room which he shared with
a brain-tumor youth. But this time it was I, who was
the patient, Dr. Bowtie or shall I say Seuss, Professor Couth?

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.

can’t easily be seen. They don’t
fall anymore. They’re not even inside
the eye. They’re not stuck in the throat and
swallowed down hard. What they are

is calcified. They become rock
salt. They stop flowing. They’re stuck. Some
I say are frozen from years of deposits. They’ve
very sharp corners, that once were round. So, at this

stage it looks like a person has no emotion. But
what one doesn’t realize is that this said person
had too much, and it was so overwhelming
that it crystallized. It would surprise one

who hadn’t gone through it before. But it
sure is anguish to live with this condition that
many mistake as apathy, for lack of a better
understanding of what it could be.

the *****
nothing

to lose
when you’ve

nothing

it’s what you chose

as your clothing and shoes
masks

your inferiority
as the liquor

masks
your authority

because on the other side’
you can’t hide in your own flesh
Nothing’s left

Why you’re here
don’t you think it’s better to come out
before you go under

is always available twenty-
four/seven. The guy with
the blue cap, is the chap I go to
when the go-to people are gone,
when they’re feeding
their egos or lawns or off
on their month-long vacations,
when I’m starved for affection
and silently raging. I just need
someone to hold me,
wipe my tears and give me
their time without
the clock as a prop
ticking away at every word
that I say. For cheap I can get high
without an appointment san eggshells
or taking a chance coddling old men
that need suspenders to hold up
more than their pants.