and were the ears so pleased when:

the iciclic needles dug into our skins,
fleshy cloths that, sewn together,
made the mask to hide the whole.
we wore them like the cheapest of trophies,
the basest of glories and the simplest of stories.
we wore them to contrast to the whiteness of space,
the empty black white gray of life's living littleness
with the reddened hardwork of claymade shells.
they glowed with the rusty red of millions of faces
free to make their mark as they see best fit.
we had found these skins
forgotten on the floor,
and so we picked them up
with our biglittle hands
and opened the door
to newmade makings and
brand new beings.
it was empty within us--
the beings of old
and the yearnings of yore
had retreated far beneath the surface,
burrowed deep below mountains and meadows and
hills pushed up like sand in a box,
crushed against the sides of our enclosure.
it was silent within us--
the screech-making moon
sang in time to chest-beatings
and the barking of stray dogs;

the melody of moments lost in time.

an average human creature should such a mythical exist
in a lifetime will celebrate about 2,200,000,000 heartbeats,
billions of heartbeats per minute (I prefer moment)
but like everything so essence human there are
those very few heartbeat moments,
the ten or twenty maybe forty total in a lifetime
that you total truly remember,
recalling the cream and sauce,
swell and the hell,
of the pounding so slow so hard,
each one a volcano of
a moment until that day
you don't remember-anything

when she said yes and you're shaking and beating in a
*****-tonk rhythm cause you were heart undressed unsure
and truly afraid of a rejection that makes a heart stoppage
disallowing visions, to be exponentially happy future imagined

you're feeling your heartbeat
in your knees going weak,
when the doctor says:

congratulations healthy swell
and/or
some years later,
I'm so so truly sorry, hell

when they hand you a long handle shovel no instructions needed and that scoop of earth weighs two tons and the sound of slow reverb in your head hurts like hell and you lack the strength to move and they move you aside quiet gentle like
but inside the temple of the two headed hydra-heart,
it's the rock and roll of slo mo, the violin crying, the drumming of
heavy metal chords plucked so slowly, it's you froze screaming

a billionaire of heartbeats you are,
but only ten or twenty maybe forty total in a lifetime
you total truly remember with the perfect clarity and
forever renders into your own unique orchestral symphony,
your true net worth, the stripes you wear
upon your shoulders skin,  
the tune when you hear it and melts you into rigidity

you fall to your knees wherever you are,
that is where you will find me,
just listen for the cars horns blaring
cursing the man lying in the street, re-listening to
ten or twenty maybe forty heartbeats total in a lifetime

you alone total truly that concert set recall and
the win-loss record inherent, inhiment,
in both of them, tears and the rents, all there in the tunes,
of forty beatings you took,
somehow it feels like here is, there was,
the answers to
where is shelter for the heart,
the answers that have gone and come and gone and someone says,

I don't feel a pulse

The Gentle Pads Of My Finger Tips Are Frigid,
The Skin Under The Lip Of My Shoe Is Raw And Worn,
From All The Cautious Steps I've Taken,
The Leafy Green Of My Tired Eyes Is Dulled,
From Hours Of The Presence Of Vision,
The Fraile Glass Windows Are Frosted Over,
Crystallized Molecules Whisper To The Half Moon,
My Heart In A REM State Of Mind,
From All Of It's Beatings,
And The Color Which I Portray Is Black,
Because It Is The Absortion Of The Artist's Pallette

We are groups of people
made to hate
because of who we love
not what we stand for.
Did no one listen to
your parents?
You treat others how you want to be treated
not
throwing beer bottles
and whining when it misses their head
not
coming at them with a knife
because a man is holding a man's hand.
We are taught as kids
being gay isn't okay.
You could be a murderer
but you can't love another man.
Why?
Why
can't I love who I love.
People would rather
have a man dying alone
in the hospital
because his boyfriend of 35 years
isn't his husband
than letting love flourish.
People would rather **** us off
than understand.
People would have broken homes
where kids come home to beatings
their head shoved in an oven
*****
molested
beaten to a pulp
cigars burned out on their arms
and hit with beer bottles to
the point of being broken
than to let a happily loving couple of two men
to have that child.
They would rather see
a red sea of bodies
than to allow us
to live.
People would rather say
"******"
"fruitcake"
"***"
"fairy"
and watch their child slit his wrist
for every time he looks at a man
and feels a twinge of love
than to let him be happy.
They would rather torcher and torment children to the point
of mental breakdowns
rushing blood
soar throats
living alone
on the streets
no love
pretending.
Than to let them be them.
People love purple
that it means freedom
but I like the rainbow.
Rainbows have a million colours
and not one colour is quite the same hue.
No one hates rainbows
or the gorgeous colours it has.
Not many notice the differences
of them so,
why can't everyone
treat other people
like we're rainbows?

Overcame just about everything in life

Mothers death was the first
Raising five younger siblings
Clothing Bathing Cooking and so much more
With God I stood strong. I was only 10 years old.

Fathers abuse was second
He really showed me what wasn't love but I felt in my heart I was showing grace by understanding his frustration over his deceased wife.
The beatings (Slaps Kicks Punches Abandonment). The Blood. The sadness.
His loud threats. Words that were mistreating. The pain.

Yet I love this man but can't find respect for him.

Relationships
Started off as not caring for nobody.
As I matured into this woman I started to want this thing called Love.
I was afraid because I felt I didn't know how.  
Come to find, that I love and love well but I'm receiving a cycle of being mistreated..

I'm still standing  Strong

i

Then must I always bear your endless accusations?
They all prove false, but still I have to fight them.
If I happen to glance at the marble theater's topmost row,
you pick some girl in the crowd to moan about;
or if a beautiful woman looks at me wordlessly,
you charge she's using lovers' wordless signs.
If I compliment a girl, you try to tear out my hair;
if I criticize one, you think I've got something to hide.
If I look well, I love no one - not even you;
if I'm pale, you say that I'm pining for someone else.
I wish I really had committed some such sin:
punishment hurts less when you deserve it;
but as it is, your wild indictments at every turn
themselves forbid your wrath to have much weight.
Think of the little long-eared donkey's wretched lot:
continual beatings only make him stubborn.
Now look, here's another charge: Cypassis, your coiffeuse,
is cast at me for defiling her mistress's bed!
The gods forbid that I, even if I yearned to sin,
should find delight in a slave-girl's lowly lot!
What man, being free, would want a servile liaison,
or wish to embrace a body the whip has scarred?
And furthermore, the girl's your personal beautician,
and valued by you because of her skillful hands.
Is it likely that I'd approach such a trusted serving-maid?
What would I get, but rejection and exposure?
By Venus and by the bow of her swift boy I swear,
you'll never find me guilty of that crime.

ii

Cypassis, expert at dressing the hair in a thousand ways
(but you ought to arrange the tresses of goddesses only)
you that I've found quite polished in stolen ecstasy,
fit for your mistress's service, but fitter for mine,
whoever was it that told of our bodies joining together?
Where did Corinna learn of our affair?
Could I have blushed? Or slipped by a single word to give
some sign that has betrayed our furtive joys?
And what of it, if I argued that nobody could transgress
with a servant, except for a man who was out of his mind
The Thessalian burned with passion for lovely Briseis, a servant;
the Mycenean leader loved Apollo's slave.
I'm no greater man than Achilles, or the scion of Tantalus.
How can what's fine for kings be foul for me?
And yet, when your mistress turned her glowering eyes on you,
I saw a deep blush spread all over your face.
But how much more possessed I was, if you recall,
I swore my faith by Venus's great godhead!
(You, goddess, bid, I pray, the warm Southwind to blow
those innocent lies across the Carpathian sea.)
Now give me a sweet return for the favor I did you then,
by bedding with me, you dusky Cypassis, today.
Don't shake your head, you ingrate, pretending you're still afraid:
you can please one of your masters, and that's enough.
If you're silly enough to refuse, I'll confess all that we've done,
making myself the betrayer of my own crime,
and I'll tell your mistress how often we met, Cypassis, and where,
and how many times we did it, and how many ways!

Wisdom and Spirit of the universe!
Thou Soul, that art the Eternity of thought!
And giv’st to forms and images a breath
And everlasting motion! not in vain,
By day or star-light, thus from my first dawn
Of childhood didst thou intertwine for me
The passions that build up our human soul;
Not with the mean and ****** works of Man;
But with high objects, with enduring things,
With life and nature; purifying thus
The elements of feeling and of thought,
And sanctifying by such discipline
Both pain and fear,—until we recognise
A grandeur in the beatings of the heart.

      Nor was this fellowship vouchsafed to me
With stinted kindness. In November days,
When vapours rolling down the valleys made
A lonely scene more lonesome; among woods
At noon; and ’mid the calm of summer nights,
When, by the margin of the trembling lake,
Beneath the gloomy hills, homeward I went
In solitude, such ******* was mine:
Mine was it in the fields both day and night,
And by the waters, all the summer long.
And in the frosty season, when the sun
Was set, and, visible for many a mile,
The cottage-windows through the twilight blazed,
I heeded not the summons: happy time
It was indeed for all of us; for me
It was a time of rapture! Clear and loud
The village-clock tolled six—I wheeled about,
Proud and exulting like an untired horse
That cares not for his home.—All shod with steel
We hissed along the polished ice, in games
Confederate, imitative of the chase
And woodland pleasures,—the resounding horn,
The pack loud-chiming, and the hunted hare.
So through the darkness and the cold we flew,
And not a voice was idle; with the din
Smitten, the precipices rang aloud;
The leafless trees and every icy crag
Tinkled like iron; while far-distant hills
Into the tumult sent an alien sound
Of melancholy, not unnoticed while the stars,
Eastward, were sparkling clear, and in the west
The orange sky of evening died away.

      Not seldom from the uproar I retired
Into a silent bay, or sportively
Glanced sideway, leaving the tumultuous throng,
To cut across the reflex of a star;
Image, that, flying still before me, gleamed
Upon the glassy plain: and oftentimes,
When we had given our bodies to the wind,
And all the shadowy banks on either side
Came sweeping through the darkness, spinning still
The rapid line of motion, then at once
Have I, reclining back upon my heels,
Stopped short; yet still the solitary cliffs
Wheeled by me—even as if the earth had rolled
With visible motion her diurnal round!
Behind me did they stretch in solemn train,
Feebler and feebler, and I stood and watched
Till all was tranquil as a summer sea.

I cried in despair,
Begging to be spared
"Please stop hitting me" I plead
It was too late. I could no longer flea...
He did this for so many years,
Until I stood up and wiped away my tears.
I'm now safe and sound,
But these ugly scars still remain.
His constant insults drove me insane.
His brutal beatings left me in pain.
So you may say,
"How are you still okay?"
The truth is I am scared no longer,
For all that pain only made me stronger.
I didn't lose,
Because time heals all wounds.

I love the sound of your heart.
Thud-dub-thud-dub-thud-dub-thud-dub
So strong and steady.
It makes me feel homesick
for a place I’m not sure even exists.

I no longer know who I am, who I was, or who I wanted to be.
I just want to lay here and listen to the sound
Of your heartbeats until
I die.

How sad it is to know that this
Steady beatings
will come to an end,
And there will no longer be you.

You, my love. My life. My hero.
I live for you, my love. I lived for you.

Please don’t leave me.
Just stay here, next to me, in this place, you and I.
We’ll go look for a place for us to hide.
Or we could just hide here,
Here in our shelter.

Please, please, please. Don’t let me go. How can I,
how can I ever live without you?
But for now, I’ll close my eyes
Pretend I’m asleep, next to the sound
Of your dying heartbeat.

You were taken,
Stolen,
You're gone forever,
Never to breathe life again,
Taken away for someone's sick pleasure,
Lying in a shallow grave,
It's so sad that you couldn't be saved.

The second victim,
Locked in the barn,
Trapped in the dark,
Stabbed in the heart,
Dying on the floor  as she cried out,
But nobody heard her,
Now she's stuffed in a freezer with her insides cut out of her,
It's such a shame that nobody could save her.

Third victim,
The captive now has serial killer status,
Disgusting pride in that freaks cold eyes,
First he stopped her breathing,
Resuscitated her,
Then proceeded with beatings,
Causing painful internal bleeding,
Just think of the demonic laughter the poor girl was hearing,
The last thing she ever heard.

Fourth victim,
I think you get the picture.

some folks express how much I look like my father
around the eyes
occasional sternness
rarely though were our personalities
or character traits  
placed in the same category
until the puppies came –
ole Jimmy is 11 years old now
he and his brother were gifted by breeders
papered Labradors
10 week little ***** of fluff
had I known I was to slip into insanity
I would have never accepted the bounty
family of five
plus two chew monsters
leaving no part of home or possession sacred….
let the beatings commence –
I had watched my father discipline dogs
the same way he disciplined me
with a belt or stick…
though the dog could take far more raining
and damaging blows
than my adolescent body
between whiskey and unresolved anger issues
we were raised by hand –
when Jimmy’s brother got out of the enclosure
that hot summer day on Thomas Creek
the beatings had slowed
as they were outside pups now
barely three years old
still locked in youth…
the occasional slap would suffice as reminder
one day Roy took out down the paved road
trotting off into the sunset
I called after and started walking down the road…
dogs pick up on energy
and mine was foul turning unreasonable
he stayed 15 to 25 feet ahead of me
if I stopped, he stopped
if I ran, he ran…
so we trekked
and trekked,
and trekked
we reached the Bee Tree
which sat just at 2 miles from the house
when he gave up the chase
I got ahold of that ******* dog
and set to throwing punches….
I am no small man,
running six ,five, two-seventy
off in the distance I heard a car coming up the bend
I stopped hitting that dog and began telling him
how much more beatings would come after the car passed
I sat mumbling profanities at my dear pet for 1 whole minute
while the Subaru came into view
and then disappeared off into the hills –
I grabbed that dog after I was tired of beating him
and ****** that pup by his collar onto his tip toes
and fast marched two miles back home
cursing him for gaging and choking all the way…
when we got back to the farm I cut him loose in the fence
went in to wash up and get some water
about half hour later I went to check on him…
that ole pup walked up wagging his tail
sheepishly
looked up with two blood red eyes
as my dragging him home
had bust the vessels in both his eyeballs…
I collapsed and burst into tears…
lil ole Roy dog laid right at my feet
started to licking my face
trying to console me…
the farmer down the road shot my dog 2 months later
for playing goat herder
I have his brother still and a couple other pups
no doubt in my mind I will have dogs until I die
I also know Roy was the last dog I’ll ever hit….
I prefer to just look like my dad –

He stared at the cuts on his wrist
Reprimanding himself for his cowardice
To not  finish the job
Melissa had seen those cuts
Dug deep  into his wrist; angry red
Knowing  full well the reason for them
But choosing to ignore them

He flinched letting out a sharp gasp
As slaps  and  punches  hit him
Opening old wounds  and  bruises
His body a palette of suffering  and  pain
Bleeding tears down his skeletal frame
Melissa  watched these attacks
Her boyfriend  inflicted upon him
But chose to ignore them

His eyes were dry from shedding tears
His heart was torn from the constant crushing
His body wracked and tired from the frequent beatings
And his brain weary and ready to shut down forever
That morning Melissa  couldn't  ignore the body
Hung in her front garden
Holding a bouquet of wilting roses;
With a heart saying *I love you

Consciousness,
mindfulness,
philosophical enlightenment -
Live for the **** of it.
Camus was right to breathe in spite of the tide of crushing emptiness.
The boulder gets heavy,
the bones grow weary,
the mountain is steep and we are steeped in irony.
For life can be deadly and death's rows of gravestones mark homes for freed slaves,
their crossed arms hiding scars
left by the teeth of nihilistic grief beatings and
surgery scalpels set to carve by
frequent false
alarms.

Sisyphus took but one break,
to hear the chains rattled from the gates,
hellish obsidian, vermilion flames licking lumps of silica grains
mixed with ash and a black tar splash.

And Orpheus sighed on the lyre and brought tears to the eyes of the most vile,
while Sisyphus
paused -
not long,
but a lifetime for those still free to subside
to dust, from blood and guts,
when their time arrives.

The trials of life,
the striving rites and lavish gifts of light to defy
the black and empty dusk still fail.
Eurydice grows pale as Orpheus turns to see her cheeks
losing every trace of peach hue,
eyes emptying,
lungs leaking their
last gale.

Struggling again, Sisyphus is sent
tumbling down the face of the great mountain,
grabbing gravel and sand and gashing gaps in his hard leather hands.
Bleeding ash,
not blood,
hot red mud dripping from the thick lacerations,
mixing with the sickening avalanche of wasted effort and waylaid plans.
Repeating the climb up the steep peak,
bones creaking like a clock's gears,
rattling off the seconds,
minutes,
hours,
years
until the watch stops its
panicked hands.

Until then we will toil unswayed
as we wear stones to clay,
carving winding paths in spirals up the mountain's waist.
No calm for those with breath,
no rest for beating hearts.
We must live in spite of life,
and then sink silent
to the earth.

Ingrid knows
the absence
of real love,

she 's known it
all 9 years
of her life.

Her mother's
indifference,
her father's

strict and cruel
attention,
the beatings,

the cold stares,
the loud shouts,
the harsh threats,

promises
of spankings.
There is just

the one love:
Benedict
from along

the narrow
balcony
of the flats,

9 years old,
brave of heart,
with his sword

painted blue
(his old man
had made it),

false silver
6 shooter,
cap firing

toy hand gun,
gun holster,
leather belt,

with wide grin,
hazel eyes,
with talk of

cowboy films,
Robin Hood,
Ivanhoe,

and she his
pretty Maid
Marian,

so he  says
or cowgirl
borrowing

his rifle,
to shoot down
bad cowboys

or Injuns.
He takes her
to his haunts:

the bomb sites,
the bombed out
old buildings,

the play parks,
cinemas
to watch films

in the dark,
feeling safe
beside him.

He has seen
her bruises,
her medals

of beatings,
the red welts
on her skin;

understands
the reasons,
who did it,

but not why;
giving her
cruel father

the cold eye
or hard sneer
when he sees

her father
in the Square
or passing

on the stair,
*******
two digits

(up you pal)
gesturing
behind her

father's back.
Ingrid knows
the absence

of real love,
she known it

all 9 years
of her life;
except for

Benedict,
her young knight
with blue sword,

and one day,
when they're grown
and left home,

she'll be his
pretty Maid
Marian

love and wife,
so she dreams
in her bed

in the night
of her sad
childhood life.

And the prettiest I've ever felt
was when you had me on the floor
begging for your hand to scold me
Your punishment was something I adored.
You tied me up in ribbons,
and marked my skin with shades of blue
and they reminded me of my shadow
because I'd imagined it to be that color, too.
I'd traded in flowers
for ropes and chains
and I'd submit myself to daily beatings
just to feel pain.
I knew, if I was good this time-
I'd get a kiss or two.
You call me princess when you're done with me
and send me to my room.
I often stare out of the window,
and wonder
why I do what I do
but love is a funny thing,
and you haven't a clue
You don't know how to love me
because you believe
no one has loved you
but oh,
I do.

*I do.

where do you exist
why is life
what is why
how
is
this
possible
now that I'm thinking about cake again
you've got me hungry
but alas I have no food
how is what
where is this
where am i
somewhere without food
i don't want to be here
i want to be with my loved one
(my loved one is food)
in case you were wondering
so where is it
where did this go
is it in my fridge?
no i ate it
it's gone
no more
but i want more
always wanting more
is this life
is it real
it is
it is real
is it food
no it's not
the food is gone
the life is gone
the food is the life
the life
is
the
food
i'm a poet
but i know it
i'm going to keep typing
until you come back
what to do
there are wings
wings of birds
that fly
but don't
but feed us
but are so small
is this a riddle?
no
it's chicken wings
it's a lie
it's all a lie
i'm making chicken wings
i should consider therapy
but then
i think
what about that food
i don't have time for that
i only have time for my love
and as i mentioned before
my love is food
actually I'll leave now
but i leave you with this
eat more food
and get fat
or you will die one day
having said
"wow those chicken wings sure did smell good I wish I had a bite"




I thank you for your time

i guess there are
some people
who just don’t realize
how preposterous they sound when
using social media.
yeah, maybe you’re one. no one
is safe from suspicion:
-the comedians (their own biggest fan types)
the witty commentators
                    jumping in from the far corner.
(you wonder how
someone who learnt every word they know
     from about six Archie comics is allowed to
use social networking)
-oh and the girls
                   who post new selfies
every day. (in fact there’s one,
i swear, posts so often
                      so regular
                                      i barely need a watch.
“here’s the three-fifteen cleavage shot.”
—she’s long since been hidden!)
and wait here’s that
fella who speaks out about injustices;
firecrackers taped in a doberman’s mouth,
which is awful, sick, repulsive—and bravo
for making the universe aware, i applaud thee,
but it’s the rambling included about what you’d do
if you ever caught them
(curbstomping, mutilating, beatings)
that gives
me goosebumps.
i don’t wanna see this kid’s mug in
the paper next week/point & say
“christ i knew it!”
..so maybe keep the ****** fantasy off the web, eh?

& then of course the weirdness
too weird to
properly recall
example:
an acquaintance's call for attention “i need a hug :(“
and the random girl
probably th’sister of a friend
(which is bizarre in its own right,
adding a friend's younger sibling..
but i
won’t bother delving
there tonight)
who replies:
“hey you should come here instead
and see the skunk that just came
by my window
if you wanna?”
—what is this absurdity?
and hey here’s an answer
to your original call:
internet hugs don’t work.
    computers don’t hug in binary, man.
0110101110101101111001010010101011011010110101110101010101
 ­                                        >—O—<

—i’ll never understand it.

Take my hand - you've got to
feel fun time's heading
closer
Futuristic daydreams
are at hand -handy!
microchipped wild
boys and girls
on rent - hardly paid off -
dance! Roll the dice!
Flicker eyes!
Adrift on the dimlit
flourescent
effervescent
reflector rays°°°°you're
never lost or at loss;
Coloured circles glide
across the dancefloor__
bouncy boots swoon, high heels
crack, remastered barefoot Tribe~
Enjoys momentary revelations!
Latino lovers attracting
honey dew magnetic more-s
rain coats off - smiley coasts shine on~
those cunning shenanigan freckles
pressed redhair beauties against
needy torsos in ecco-leather jackets  
electrified silhouettes stunning
like elves un-fading beauty  
transforming tuxedos
of a tight
night; a jingle of
Prague crystals into
one dancing wave submerged
by the vicinity of hissing tongues  
-been- beaten by fierce kissing
in a stronghold ballroom
frenzy - polarized
beatings - hi-s and bye-s ; a
stroboscopic syncopation
ecstatic hips,  
space shuttle
trips

you were crying so much that day
tears and sweat marred
your face

when you heard my footsteps
you
look up
and ask

'do you love me?'

boy, i can't tell you
how much
those drops of ache
felt like a thousand beatings
to the
heart that have
always loved you
more
than anyone else [even you]

there is nothing to do
but hold you

framing your beauty
in my trembling palms

i kissed your eyelids
hoping against all hope
that
that contact
would be enough

i spent a great
deal of
my life
convincing you
that you matter

i look at you
as if
you are beyond this universe

every waking moment
was dedicated
into never making
you feel
less than your
true worth

so it came
as no surprise
that when i ask if you love me

you just smiled
and said

'thank you'

I Love you Pumpkin!

As they lowered my mother’s casket into the ground
I held on to my father’s hands tightly
I looked at my father—failing to read him
His grey eyes looked at nothing in particular
And lips uttered words only he understood

He let go of my hands abruptly and started walking ahead
Leaving me behind with my aunt and her husband
I stayed with them till it was time to go home

Home- the word sounded strange to my ears
What good was a home if you did not have a mother to go home to?
One who you could talk to about all your worries
Rest your head on her lap and feel all your tensions drift away every time she stroked your hair

But I had to go anyway—It has been raining and I was soaked to the bone
When I got home
The air smelled musty and everyone was still in their “mourning clothes”
If I had my way I would throw away my Wednesday Adams inspired frock and Mary Janes into the fire once and for all
My father, aunt, uncle and grandmother sat around the kitchen table and tried their best not to weep into the food that was sent by the neighbors
I had no appetite to even begin with so I left the table without saying a word
I went to my room changed my clothes and flopped on my bed
I was too tired for anything else and wanted to be left alone for the rest of my days
But this was just wishful thinking
My problems started during the next couple of days
My aunt and uncle had graciously stayed with us for 2-3 days, before leaving on a Friday morning
But not before my aunt took the liberty of rummaging through my mother jewelry box stealing a keepsake or two
“Oh something to remember my older sister by” she laughing said
But I knew better
This had upset me a great deal but it was the least of my worries

My father had started behaving strangely
Coming home late into the night and bringing with him empty bottles and strange odors instead of dinner and clothes
Forgetting to restock the fridge and pay the bills on time
I was busy with school but I pitched in to help whenever I could
But nothing ever pleased my father!

“Lola why are the eggs burned” that earned me a pinch on the arm
“Take out the garbage” he would yell out and smack me across the head
“The soup tastes like dishwater”

The complaints increased with time and the beatings as well
There were 7 days in a week and he may be spared me for two
Everything and anything ticked the man off

I on the other hand was changing colors like chameleon from blue to purple and looked more like a ragdoll then a 14 year old girl
I hardly fit into my school uniform anymore

I could not remember how long this went on for but soon enough it was routine
He would beat in the day
And come to my room to sooth my wounds during the night

He never apologized- all he had to say was this “I love you pumpkin”
As if that was enough to heal the cigarette he placed on my arms and legs

My bruised face
Purple eyes
Broken bones

Things took a turn for the worse on my 17 birthday
My father would only come home now at night just to slowly creep into my room and check on me
Not on my wounds but my body instead
My eyes remained closed the entire time but that never helped
He was big man and had me easily pinned to my bed
He slapped me about when I tried to get away and thrashed around like a fish out of water

He only had this much to say
“I love you pumpkin”

Going to the police did not help
I could not inform my aunt and
My grandmother was buried six feet under the ground

July 1st The day of his birthday
I decided to end this once and for all
I made Chinese and baked a cake
My father always got home around one in the morning
So I thought I would surprise him by dressing up like his lovely dead wife

I walked into my mother’s room for the first time after she passed away and opened up her walk in closet.
I didn’t waste any time in looking at the dresses and endless arrays of shoes and handbags
I picked out a black dress—one of my fathers favorites
Adorned myself in her precious jewels and spirited on her favorite perfume “Haiku”
So it was the first thing my father would inhale when he walked into the house
Just like I predicted the vile man finally came home
I made myself comfortable in the family room but sitting on my mother’s favorite chair with a glass of wine

The front door suddenly creaked open and I could hear the sounds of heavy footsteps making their way to the living room

The lights came on and I got into character
My father was very startled to see me
“Luna” he croaked
“Yes John It is I”
The man was definitely drunk
I put the glass down and stood up to embrace him
He ran to me like a child
“My darling how I missed you” I mimicked
I gingerly embraced him before coaxing him to sit in my mother chair and offered him the wine

He protested but I did not take no for an answer and begin to massage his neck
Just like the mother used to do it without getting sick
And hummed a tune of my own
After an eternity later I could see he was a little calmer then before
I continued what I was doing but this time using only one hand
And reached for the frying pan I had kept behind the sofa before hand

Before he could take my mother’s name again
I brought the pan down and struck on the head
I smiled when the blood finally started to trickle down

With a satisfied smirk I only had this much to say “I love you pumpkin”

my dad was a workin man
mud on his boots and rust colored hands
cigarette in his mouth and Carhart pants
covered in sawdust from the projects he'd sand

we were family but how he saw us I'll never understand
and there was always my mother so he always needed another plan

we were technically a family, the few of us just us three
in a house like a boxing ring the loving was left up to me
four poor walls held together by two wedding rings begrudgingly
you could starve to death there if you were the one hungry for sympathy

my mom was a violent woman, a true fighter
hot tempered and her temper would start hot fires
at a young age I was inspired to learn to fight back because I was tired
of the beatings, of the yelling, of fake apologies, of the mire

we were a family but how she handled us I will never admire
she wanted us forever but the fates conspired

we were a family through all of the calls to the police
we were a family through the jealousy, the paranoia, and the deepening grief
we were a family that went to war and ignored peace
we were a sick body on it's knees that knew only disease and no relief

then of course we were a sailing ship forced on it's inevitable course
divorce
then us three became him, and her, and me, the source
now I have no recourse to heal those old sores

my dad was a boxer and my mom was a volatile pyre
fourteen years on that noose and fears are all I acquired
what transpired has made me hollow and lonely and scared of today because of the prior
and whoever tells you that you could survive that unscarred is the worst kind of liar

My heart is too big
to hold god,
angels maybe,
dark-skinned,
with ragged clothes,
but not god.

Alone in His majesty,
it would be a waste of space,
and we should take care
to make of his gifts more than that.

Where are we to go
on Sundays
from now on, you ask?
Well, you could come to my house,
and I to yours. Or, if that won't do,

we'll build a house from the ground;
and it will be just a house, a house
without memory, without beatings
and cold stares.  Flowers
in all the windows, growing up,
blessed with restlessness.

My past is seeking me out again
The stupidity of my past ignorance and sin

We'd stay up all night and speak of places we would roam
He moved me far away from home


He moved me away from family and friends
I didn't relize my future was growing dim

I was in love, he kept his demons well hid
If I'd just known some of the things he had did


I soon was pregnant, unable to defend
That's when the beatings begin

I would of ran but there was no where to go
So far from home with a young one in tow


My illusional happy family dissolved
A happy future from me is STILL getting robed

This drunken alcoholic fool
Was particularly cruel

Daily beatings a must
Hands around my throat in disgust

Have him arrested, out the next day
"Boy, ***** will you pay"


Years go by and three children latter
Things are much worse the punishment greater

Can't leave him now, know for a fact he will **** me
He'd bury my body deep, he'd never set me free

Then he would be raising my kids, a terrifying thought
And all of my suffering would of been for naught


One drunken and now cracked up night
He told me to go and I took flight

Raised four kinds on my own
Over 17 year and every 2 or 3 years always making his presence known

He can fill my heart with fear
I seen him today he's in my town..........his near

Former goals long before gone,
broken dreams,
hidden in secret behind friends views,
a life in vain.

Doubtless efforts fruitless taken,
countless beatings endured,
still seeking path to milk and honey,
wondering if it hasn´t already resigned.

Value meaningless,
reduced to sheer nothingness,
clouded vision,
not able to recognize it´s worth.

Neither happiness nor sadness,
behind it´s emotionless face,
killing time with dusty distractions
and waiting for something to happen,
that relightens a fire
well known in former days.

Every year now, I note the differences:
the changes in the stones,
the retreating car park and what
is new to the waves.
It is slight. You try to hide it by
presenting the same places and
lacing them with memories that
all correspond.
But you are changing.
You take new beatings, and I can't
help but wonder if we are alike.
The process of erosion has caught
us both, and year by year,
cliff by cliff, it's wearing us down.

It was always supposed to happen,
but what if you change too much?
What will happen when you change
irreparably, irreconcilably?
Even now you are only an
imaginary home, so defamiliarized
from the dream I demand.
I know you promised me nothing.
But I had a deal you didn't know about
and you've ceased to make me happy.
I can't help but be a little angry
with you for letting the
storm break you down.

But is it really you, or is it me
who has done the changing?
Is it not my eyes and my erosion?
Is it not the attrition and abrasion
and the long shore drift
that has welled up inside my own soul?
Is it you or I?
How can we know?

His mother's dumb face
His father's cold drinks
It's all fun and games
'Till the happiness sinks

He'll walk straight inside
Not announcing his presence
Stare fear in the eye
And inhale killer's essence

Walk up to his room
And open his door
Foreshadowing doom
That box on the floor

Within it? The metal
He stole it for fun
The steel 'shakes his settle'
In the form of a gun

He tugs on the hammer
And pulls back the slide
Waits 'till the clamor
Of anxiety subsides

Remembers the beatings
His father would lay
Remembers the feeding
Of lies in the hay

He waltzes down stairs
With the gun in both hands
At the very last step
He nervously stands

He won't just say 'blam'
And pull back the trigger
His thoughts make a plan
A process much bigger

Confronting them both
At the small kitchen table
He didn't once choke
When he said "I am able"

He pointed the gun
But his resolve soon shattered
And in shame, shot himself
Saying first "It won't matter!"

His plan had recoiled
But his mission still stood
As the bullet hit oil
And caught fire to the wood

And the flames licked and climbed
And the roof burned and caved
And the family died
In the fiery blaze

And the town down the road
Never did realize
The church choir sings odes
And a young lady cries

But never word flew
Of the evil within
'Till the killers mind slew
Just a boy and his kin

My child said today,
“You’d be rich if it wasn’t for me”
and she then smiled that goofy smile
adding, “Why did you have me then? I’m so expensive. ”

And when she later shimmied like a long lean cat
on a thin fence, I replied, “This is why I had you.”

And when she then made up her own word, bestfuzzer, to
describe a friend, I said, “This is why I had you.”

And as she curled into my belly on the bed
nuzzled my neck, and blew holes in my hair,
I whispered, “This is why I had you.”

She has forced me to reinvent myself
to plumb the deep waters of my reserve
my sanity, my will to live even
and bring up one more shining fish
one more favor, one more drive across town
one more strange meal at 2 am

And in cleaning away the thick of leaves, dirt, and grass
from my grandparents’ headstones
I become them, their bones my bones
Their struggle my struggle

How much we could have saved in not having children
would nevertheless have impoverished us in other ways.
We are driven by dumb unseen forces
as ancient as soil to create our children –
accident, intent, it doesn’t matter

so I pay homage to my grandparents - tired, frightened immigrants
barely out of childhood, with the stench of their parents
on fire singing their nostrils

Why did they persist?
What drove my grandmother to marry a man she’d never even met?
to bear his children, to suffer his beatings?

This is why I had you
Because I was lonely
Because I was *****
Because through you I sewed myself back together
Because you are my destiny

And when my child asks why I had her
I breathe milk and honey into her mouth
jostle the stars until they ****** like wind chimes
pulling the continents back together again.
And when she asks me,
I can only offer up the scoop of my palms and
the ticking of blood in my wrists as reasons.

Notus in fratres animi paterni.
                       Hor. Carm. lib.II.2.

A blesséd lot hath he, who having passed
His youth and early manhood in the stir
And turmoil of the world, retreats at length,
With cares that move, not agitate the heart,
To the same dwelling where his father dwelt;
And haply views his tottering little ones
Embrace those agéd knees and climb that lap,
On which first kneeling his own infancy
Lisp’d its brief prayer. Such, O my earliest Friend!
Thy lot, and such thy brothers too enjoy.
At distance did ye climb Life’s upland  road,
Yet cheered and cheering: now fraternal love
Hath drawn you to one centre. Be your days
Holy, and blest and blessing may ye live!

  To me the Eternal Wisdom hath dispens’d
A different fortune and more different mind—
Me from the spot where first I sprang to light
Too soon transplanted, ere my soul had fix’d
Its first domestic loves; and hence through life
Chasing chance-started friendships. A brief while
Some have preserved me from life’s pelting ills;
But, like a tree with leaves of feeble stem,
If the clouds lasted, and a sudden breeze
Ruffled the boughs, they on my head at once
Dropped the collected shower; and some most false,
False and fair-foliag’d as the Manchineel,
Have tempted me to slumber in their shade
E’en mid the storm; then breathing subtlest damps,
Mix’d their own venom with the rain from Heaven,
That I woke poison’d! But, all praise to Him
Who gives us all things, more have yielded me
Permanent shelter; and beside one Friend,
Beneath the impervious covert of one oak,
I’ve rais’d a lowly shed, and know the names
Of Husband and of Father; not unhearing
Of that divine and nightly-whispering Voice,
Which from my childhood to maturer years
Spake to me of predestinated wreaths,
Bright with no fading colours!
                                               Yet at times
My soul is sad, that I have roam’d through life
Still most a stranger, most with naked heart
At mine own home and birth-place: chiefly then,
When I remember thee, my earliest Friend!
Thee, who didst watch my boyhood and my youth;
Didst trace my wanderings with a father’s eye;
And boding evil yet still hoping good,
Rebuk’d each fault, and over all my woes
Sorrow’d in silence! He who counts alone
The beatings of the solitary heart,
That Being knows, how I have lov’d thee ever,
Lov’d as a brother, as a son rever’d thee!
Oh! ’tis to me an ever new delight,
To talk of thee and thine: or when the blast
Of the shrill winter, rattling our rude sash,
Endears the cleanly hearth and social bowl;
Or when, as now, on some delicious eve,
We in our sweet sequester’d orchard-plot
Sit on the tree crook’d earth-ward; whose old boughs,
That hang above us in an arborous roof,
Stirr’d by the faint gale of departing May,
Send their loose blossoms slanting o’er our heads!

  Nor dost not thou sometimes recall those hours,
When with the joy of hope thou gavest thine ear
To my wild firstling-lays. Since then my song
Hath sounded deeper notes, such as beseem
Or that sad wisdom folly leaves behind,
Or such as, tuned to these tumultuous times,
Cope with the tempest’s swell!

                                                These various strains,
Which I have fram’d in many a various mood,
Accept, my Brother! and (for some perchance
Will strike discordant on thy milder mind)
If aught of error or intemperate truth
Should meet thine ear, think thou that riper Age
Will calm it down, and let thy love forgive it!