You do not do, you do not do
Any more, black shoe
In which I have lived like a foot
For thirty years, poor and white,
Barely daring to breathe or Achoo.

Daddy, I have had to **** you.
You died before I had time ----
Marble-heavy, a bag full of God,
Ghastly statue with one gray toe
Big as a Frisco seal

And a head in the freakish Atlantic
Where it pours bean green over blue
In the waters off the beautiful Nauset.
I used to pray to recover you.
Ach, du.

In the German tongue, in the Polish town
Scraped flat by the roller
Of wars, wars, wars.
But the name of the town is common.
My ****** friend

Says there are a dozen or two.
So I never could tell where you
Put your foot, your root,
I never could talk to you.
The tongue stuck in my jaw.

It stuck in a barb wire snare.
Ich, ich, ich, ich,
I could hardly speak.
I thought every German was you.
And the language obscene

An engine, an engine,
Chuffing me off like a Jew.
A Jew to Dachau, Auschwitz, Belsen.
I began to talk like a Jew.
I think I may well be a Jew.

The snows of the Tyrol, the clear beer of Vienna
Are not very pure or true.
With my gypsy ancestress and my weird luck
And my Taroc pack and my Taroc pack
I may be a bit of a Jew.

I have always been scared of you,
With your Luftwaffe, your gobbledygoo.
And your neat mustache
And your Aryan eye, bright blue.
Panzer-man, panzer-man, O You ----

Not God but a *******
So black no sky could squeak through.
Every woman adores a Fascist,
The boot in the face, the brute
Brute heart of a brute like you.

You stand at the blackboard, daddy,
In the picture I have of you,
A cleft in your chin instead of your foot
But no less a devil for that, no not
Any less the black man who

Bit my pretty red heart in two.
I was ten when they buried you.
At twenty I tried to die
And get back, back, back to you.
I thought even the bones would do.

But they pulled me out of the sack,
And they stuck me together with glue.
And then I knew what to do.
I made a model of you,
A man in black with a Meinkampf look

And a love of the rack and the *****.
And I said I do, I do.
So daddy, I'm finally through.
The black telephone's off at the root,
The voices just can't worm through.

If I've killed one man, I've killed two ----
The vampire who said he was you
And drank my blood for a year,
Seven years, if you want to know.
Daddy, you can lie back now.

There's a stake in your fat black heart
And the villagersnever liked you.
They are dancing and stamping on you.
They always knew it was you.
Daddy, daddy, you *******, I'm through.

you see,
that’s the problem
with being the strong one
who always offers others
a hand
everyone thinks that you
don’t need a hand and
they think you have lots
of surplus energy and no
worries

*(s.m)

She said,
I want to die
Just let me die.
And I felt her words
Throughout the entirety of my soul
Because I knew
I knew.

We sat there stroking her back
He and I.
As she kept saying
I want to die
I looked up at him
And I saw it in his eyes
And he saw it in mine
Because he knew.
He knew.

Three broken people
Sitting at a party together.
Her sober thoughts coming out
As drunk words.
I heard it in her voice,
He saw it in my eyes,
I saw it in his eyes,
And for one second,
None of us were alone
Together we shared the pain.
Because we knew.
We knew.

I found myself
Getting lost in your eyes
The same way
I've looked at the stars
Since I was 7

And every second
Feeling like a million years
Heavy with time
I sink deeper and deeper
While you raise me up

I found myself
In your eyes
Through your darkening gaze
This must be love-
This intoxicating feeling.

You're asleep.
And here I am laying in the dark,
I wonder to the world
How I became so lucky.

I have someone that understands me.
A partner,
A best friend,
A lover.

Your long eyelashes shade your eyes,
And your light breathing
Tells me you are at peace.
You wrapped your leg around me.

You woke up for a second.
You realized you weren't holding me,
And you adjusted
So I could slide into your embrace.

And now you're asleep.
Unaware to the words I am now writing.
You have become everything to me.
You are the before and after.

I never thought I would be this girl,
But I'm as cheesy as the rest of them-
Those in love.
Those with hope.

Is a poet still a poet
If they do not write?

A journal gathering dust,
But a yearning to write.
Am I still a poet
Without my inner light?