Not cancer within our bones,
But it’s a cancer of our homes.
It’s a “hierarchy” deemed “alright”
But it’s a battle – a true fight.

It’s a longing for control and
It’s a simple punch, fist, hand
Or not even that. It could be
Lashing words that ignore her plea.

He denies her to her loved ones
For that’s who would step up with guns
Of love, ropes of safety. “Keep quiet,”
She’s told, which is now her best bet.

It’s shame that keeps her in silence.
It’s love that frees her from *violence.

How sad it is to create a world of fantasies
that you know **** well wouldn't happen in real life
But somehow along building that dreamlike catastrophe
you see yourself slowly wandering in a world of bliss
in a world where you are the lead character
and every trees and every clouds are smiling at you
And you know **** well you'd never cry the way you do
no thoughts of quitting
unloving
hating
leaving
pain
it's all a loophole of sunrise
almost ending with a gorgeous sunset
and with you
hand in hand
is someone you badly wish
to be madly in love with you

You told me you loved me so much
no matter what you felt or where you were
you told me you would be my lovepug
my birdie, my lemur
and now seem to have no hesitation to leave

After Abie falls asleep I drive home
and leave him in the car long enough

to take the groceries in, then
come back out and carry him

upstairs--noticing, as I lay him
down on his bed, that somewhere

along the way he's lost his pacifier.
This is serious. It could be

anywhere. And he needs it.
I remind myself to look later,

to retrace my steps from his
bedroom door, back down

the stairs and outside to the car.
I go to the kitchen and begin putting

groceries away. The spice rack falls
off the wall. A partially open jar

of cayenne pepper spills into a bowl
of shelled pecans. As I throw

the pecans away, I stop at
the kitchen window and look out

and there, lying on the black
asphalt tongue of the driveway,

I see Abie's pacifier... Small...
Pale... Soft... Like a newborn ear.

fear then the shadow express a hand that does not alarm the thought of an elbow?*

i've learned to love,
and it's not worth a poem
let alone a rhyme,
it's not worth a poem should
it rhyme; i've learned to love!
then you will call a tiger entrapped
fear another name a scaled iron capsule.

An autumn leaf blowing in the wind
It will fall I know but when?
Does it let go and peacefully glide?
Does it hold on with memory of hope
Remember the days
When fate was okay.
Does it feel a longing for the earth,
Anticipating blanketing her?
Does it feel it will fall into non-existence
Lose control with no direction?
Little leaf, fragility is special.
Do you see the beauty in your vulnerability?
Little leaf I know swaying is scary.
There is beauty in the fall.