The light I cast
makes me dwindle.
I melt, running off
myself. As I shrink

my flame expands.
I burn the hands of
the men that touch me.
When I’m a stub shall

they love me? Still,
a little flicker of truncated
love, waiting for a match
in a hollow glass, with

opaque walls. Blackness
calls. If you leave me
I'll burn the house
Down.

of my head.
This reverie sticks to me
as the sweaty sheets
in my bed. Wrapping around
me as a burrito, clinging to me
as a beach ***'s speedo.

I can't get him out
the door.
He's blended into
the furniture. He's woven
in the tapestry. We're packed
together like bananas
in a banana tree.

I can’t get him out
of my heart.
My blood’s shaken up
as cream churning
into butter. The reds
solidify and make
my heart flutter.

without the label
or sidewards glances
that he is able
to grow in the purest
as a crystal snowflake
the sunrise over the horizon
a sapling sprouting from the ground

If they'd hear him
without note or sound
with feathered wings
and sturdy bough

If they'd love him
as I do
without measure
as he is
he's a treasure

and you’re plain, so smart
you borrowed every girl’s heart, including mine
but this time this one’s wiser

the hurt made it stronger
it will no longer wander where the eyes take her

where the heart rakes her over castles in the clouds
both feet are on the ground

if it slid into him full throttle
as a baseball player sliding into
home-plate, kicking up the dirt into
his face. A mound of smoke rising

from the ground, the cheer of the
crowd. He wouldn't know love if it slapped
him silly. If it knocked out his two front teeth
nilly-*****. If he bled from the mouth

with a swollen lip. All he knows is
that he couldn't kiss. He wouldn't know
if it ran him over like a land Rover, leaving
tracks on his chest, scars up and down

from his hip to his breast. Cutting off
his legs and mangling his arms. He wouldn't
know love if it dropped him out of a plane, and
he hit the ocean like a freight-train!

I was lonely and looking for the answers
in every stranger’s eyes as far as I could see.
I ended up compromising all that I believed.
Until the day I recognized, I wasn’t being me.
I wasn’t being me.

Now let me tell you I am who I am.
And who I am is good enough for me.
I am who I am without pretention.
Upon exam you’ll see that I’m totally free,
without reserve.
If I hit a nerve in you, I’m sorry.
But nothing’s going to stop me from being me.
I got to be me.

running the reds
bleeding in threads
sticking as green algae
swirling the blues
in nostalgy
into the browns
pirouettes spinning
in striped corsets
plucking them strings
like Raymond Dorset
a palette of color
on a grey canvas
twisted as a cruller
Dust in the wind/Kansas

he’s never by my side. He’s off
a hundred yards ahead of me. I fall
behind like the leaves. He drifts away. I,
in dreams. I stop and stare at a scurrying

chipmunk that busts up my thoughts for
but a moment. But enough to get lost
from his sight. Have you ever felt lonely in
someone’s company? Have you ever felt

like you're drifting in the wind and carried
someplace where you want to be –
inside your mind; inside a dream? Though
your feet step lightly

with ivy.
So, I decided to climb.
But it wouldn’t hold my weight
So, I slid back down
at a speeding rate.

He hung the moon
with rope cheese.
So, I decided to take a bite.
But soon got full
and lost my appetite.

He hung the moon
with horsehair.
So, I decided to make a braid.
But through each twist and turn
I swayed.

He hung the moon
with an olive branch.
So, I decided to give him
another chance.

my pieces
aged and shattered
and all that mattered
was for you to hold them
in your hands
but you crushed them
as shells on the beach
and they fell –
powder at your feet

I gave you
my heart
weak and bruised
and all that mattered
was for you to place it next to yours
but it grew tattered
as a shirt in your closet
from moths
hanging on the wire in the dark
holey and sags
making red rags to dust off your seat

I gave you
my wings
battered and broken
hoping to fly again
but you cut my feathers
and scattered them
as ashes in the smoky air
blowing in the hot wind
pelting sleet in the heat

You clipped the wings off the dove
Took the bloom off the rose
Snipped the tresses of an angel, love
Painted black as the crows

You strung her heart on a line
Hung it out until it dried
Pitched the wrinkled fruit in pine
Ditched your terracotta bride

the air till it took off the roof
of his house. He discarded me
like a cigarette **** till I burnt him
from the inside out. He said

his pieces held together by
a string till I cut the string. And they
scattered like the autumn leaves,
like acorns falling from the trees.

He played up
his life in his work
like a painter does with colors
wet on the canvas of
their imaginations. The starry

night in swirls of blue and
gold. He danced so light they called him
twinkle toes. He danced all over me,
but tripped on himself.

a footnote
at the bottom
of your page
I’m a star
taking center stage
a Napoleon Bonaparte
that only brightens with age

I won’t be
leftovers
you place
in the microwave
no Hors d'oeuvres
or strawberry preserves
I’m a smorgasbord
fit for only a lord

I won’t be
an ornament
you hang
on the tree
dangling on a wire
I’m a raging
forest fire

I won’t be
hushed
this woman
has guts
and won’t be
brushed away!

she screams crystal chandeliers
wired to the molded ceiling, translucent
and gleaming a fiery red light that reflects
off the lace of the stillborn curtains.

When she cries
she cries drops big as buckets
that flood the basement in their disdain.
The stagnant air sits weighty as a
homeless old lady.

When she dreams
she dreams oceans and continents,
lost planets and stars and she never stops.
Never has any plans to

to the window
and missed me
at his door.

I ran
out of energy. This life
became a chore.

He ran
over. So, he
didn't call.

I ran
head over feet -
that's how I fall.

He ran
an errand,
making me wait.

I ran
out quietly
slinking as
a skate.

He ran
his moil
on the phone.

I ran
my toil
with a grunt
and a groan.

as a scarlet letter
big and bright
on my low-cut sweater.

I wear the pain
as a banana peel
skidding across
the street
in stiletto heels.

I wear the pain
as a lumberjack
wielding a long-
winded ax.

I wear the pain
as a blinding torch
scorching the ground
I walk around.

as the goose feathers
in my pillow,
hanging as a weeping willow.

I’m down
as last night’s pelting rain.
Spinning in circles
as a weathervane.

I’m down
as George Floyd.
Pinned by this world
But able to strike.
This hand is a snake
It can bite.

Change is Going to Persist

No, they don’t understand me
The clothes I choose to wear
No, they don’t understand me
They just stop and stare
I conformed to them many times
And many times I shut down
So this time if I’m going down
I’m going down as myself.

They’re frustrated with their lives
So they’re pointing fingers
They’re frustrated with their lives
So they’re shooting zingers
And change is going to persist
No matter how much they protest

No, they don’t understand me
The way I style my hair
No, they don’t understand me
They just stop and stare
I conformed to them many times
And many times I shut down
So this time if I’m going down
I’m going down as myself.

They’re frustrated with their lives
So they’re pointing fingers
They’re frustrated with their lives
So they’re shooting zingers
And change is going to persist
No matter how much they protest

No, they don’t understand me
Whom I choose to love
No, they don’t understand me
Exactly what I’m made of
I conformed to them many times
And many times I shut down
So this time if I’m going down
I’m going down as myself.

They’re frustrated with their lives
So they’re pointing fingers
They’re frustrated with their lives
So they’re shooting zingers
And change is going to persist
No matter how much they protest

for me.
No in-betweens.
You’re either in
or you’re

out. There’s no
room to wobble. I hated
Weebles. They remind me
of fat people because they’re

weighed down. Never said
I was a saint. But you gotta
Love me for who I am –

Not for what I ain’t.

was a mile
I’d circle the earth
and back again
the hardest walk
without a friend

If every teardrop
was a match
I’d light a forest the world around
till I flattened the ground
and all the trees
crumble as leaves

If every teardrop
was a raindrop
I’d flood the oceans
with my emotions
men have to build an ark
surrounded by circling sharks

If every teardrop
was a note
they’d hang in the air
a song of love and despair
and men waltz
bowing their heads
till they all went off to bed

If every teardrop
was a rung
I'd climb
till spring has sprung
heaven high
and touch the moon
till tulips bloom
from hazel eyes
daffodils and butterflies

as black satin sheets
at the bottom of my bed
spread tightly across
the four corners
and hung over the edge

Stretched
as salt water taffy
pulling the ribbons of azure
gold, red, purple and green
then cutting them clean into little clumps
that melt on the tongue
one by one

Stretched
as an elastic
wound around the finger
cutting off the circulation
and all sensation

Stretched
as on the rack
limbs tied with a rope
dislocating the joints
while the old man has a smoke

stuck in my shoe
preventing me from walking
the piece of food
caught in my tonsils
preventing me from talking
the sand pooling my eyes
preventing me from seeing
the gale howling through my window at night
preventing me from sleeping
the collar attached to the leash around my throat
preventing me from moving
the pillowcase over my head
preventing me from breathing
all of this, mother –
preventing you from loving

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

I’ll Never Be This Age Again

They ooh and ahh
fawn all over me
get excited when I say a word
clap their hands when I take a step
though I look absurd!
Walking like young Frankenstein
Diapers/sippy cups
Whine! Whine! Whine!

I’ll Never Be This Age Again
Santa Clause
The tooth fairy
Fairy tales
Make believe
Soiled clothes
Scraped knees

I’ll Never Be This Age Again
Broken hearts/hurtful words
a face full of pimples
greasy hair
an attitude that’s rude
**** and bras
tampons and pads
drinking and cursing
driving mom mad

I’ll Never Be This Age Again
Jobs and college
Cars and boys
Leaving home
Depression
Anxiety
Suicide watch
Just the cost
of growing up

I’ll Never Be This Age Again
Marriage
A house
And babies
Running around
like crazy

I’ll Never Be This Age Again
Fighting
Divorce
Affairs
Resentment
Anguish
Wrinkles
a thicker middle


I’ll Never Be This Age Again
Forgetfulness
Hot flashes
Sagging *******
and *****
Dreams left unfulfilled
Cancer
Heart disease
Funerals

are big and worn. I've worn them
since I was born. None can
fit in them. They only are my size. I've
worn them in sunrise and rain,

through beatings and days
I was drained. I danced in moonlight
singing a song all night. I walked the
floor in them wiping baby's

phlegm. I soiled then in my garden,
and the day I starred in woman
*****. They shaped all I was. Saw me
through menopause. They're filled with holes

and old. But even unraveled
have sole. I cannot trade them in. I'll only die
in them. None can fill my shoes. Even if
they choose to have a shot. It just isn't their lot.

Why can’t I be a dandelion?
So, when they cut me off at the crown
I can grow back up again.
These lil’ buggers have roots down
to the depths of the earth.
They need so little
to rebirth.

I want to be a field
of sunny, yellow kissers.
I would yield
a blanket of flowers
that children could pick
whiling away the afternoon hours.

Perpetuating my seed
in an aerial of cotton spray.
I love it when they’re blowing.
It makes my day
seeing fury fuzzy ***** floating in a marmalade sky,
amongst a backdrop
of formal trees wearing Scottish tweed.
Not bad, I think,
for a common ****.

I’m no longer looking inside
someone else’s face
for recognition. I’ll look at my own reflection
when I need recognition. I’m no longer looking

inside someone else’s heart
for love. I’ll look inside my own heart. And love me
with all my heart. Inside myself is where
I want to be. Inside myself lives a unique individual

who has many great gifts to offer
this world. But first I must offer the greatest gift
of all, which is the gift of love that I offer to myself,
with no pretense or strings or relying on someone

else. This is me, incredible and crazy. This is me,
amazing and peculiar. This is me flowing and
free. This is me angry and disturbed. This is me a clown
and a nerd. This is me silly, crying and delirious. This is me

reflective and serious. There is more. Yes, so much more,
and more and more yet to come. I’ll never be done
with me, a work in progress, who gets lost and comes back
to this - being me. No one else can do “me” better.

The “Hello”

wasn’t any
hello. It was much more an
embrace. I felt it the moment I

walked in. I questioned it. But you wouldn’t
give into the feeling. It was something from
a long time ago that stirred something new. I sat

on the floor on your carpet filled with dust,
of the remains of the two of us. I saw your hand
tremble, your pants revealing the leg

that jogged in the body of a man half your age. I knew
he was in there.  I wanted to scream of the time
when I let myself delve in the dream. And you

allowed me to follow, ride on your back. Before it
got broken, splintered in half. I could have squashed it,
as times before. But I took part of it with me

when I exited the door. Just a morsel,
enough for a pang. Not enough to fill
the empty girl’s yang.

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.

and fly with the crows
don’t waste time hobnobbing
with those that parrot
what they hear
and then drop bombs
like pigeons

in his chain of
“can’t let gos”
with a flick of
finger I began

to quiver
till I toppled on
the next spotted
vagabond that

fell as hard
as I
neither standing
after the ride

as he laughed
to see us all
knocked out flat
that's the last

I'll fall in line
for a man's tricks
no matter his shine

people aiming for my center –
throwing their steely blades
not that far from face
thinking they’ll ******* score a win
if they get their little ****** in
but this woman has a trick or two
she’s Not going for another corkscrew

the day
the same way
coaxing myself
to climb out of
this mountain of bed
with all the covers
spread out like a thick blanket of snow
weighing down the branches
as this head dances
like a bobblehead doll
sealed in a box
you can purchase at the mall

I go through
the door
and out into the world
like a furled umbrella
that when dry is stellar

I go through
the motions
like a shackled prisoner
wearing heavy chains around the ankles
handing out samples of weathered burn lines
behind a thin screen
of rust colored dust in the basement
where the windows have no curtains
so, all can look in
at the experiment

the path I’m heading toward
or the path I've traveled
leads me to the sky.
And the sky rains or shines.

Not seeing
this mess of a woman in the mirror
or the scared girl from the past
acting as a vine, running up and
down sticking to a trellis
leads me to blowing in the wind.
And the wind can take me
to new places.

the rug
from under her feet
laid her flat
as a fitted sheet
and danced
over the body
on every beat

He Pulled
rose petals off
one by one
till the crimson bloom lay
scattered blood ashes
curled in the tray

He pulled
the stitching out
before the wound closed
then he ran as a run
in her pantyhose

He pulled
the plug
from her life-support
stole her breath
on every caress
till the last death

a grenade on them
I thought I was smoken hot
they thought not
they saw me for who I was
an amateur that had not much
that put out everything
and got back nothing
But insults
even so despite it all
I’m doing something
that I love
even if I’m **** on a platter
what does it matter

in the woods with the dancing trees
and melodic birds than on the streets
hearing the cutting words of men.

I’d like to be alone
on the shore with the spraying ocean breeze
and the seagulls at my feet
than falling for the same thing again.

I'd like to be alone
by the stream hearing the trickle
of water running over the rocks
than in the presence of fickle men.

I'd like to be alone
atop a mountain looking out
at the azure sky, seeing the eagle
fly with paper and pen.

in the beginning is the young child
always thinking, questioning why
the sky is blue, why the sun is round,
why the rain falls down.

The Poet
in the early morning is the first one
rising at dawning, before the robin
sings his sweet song, with mind moving
as pistons, shaping, shifting and lifting.

The Poet
in midafternoon, jots down thoughts
on a paper napkin while stirring her
coffee with a spoon. Everything she sees
will be composed into a poem, even some
poor innocent child without their knowing.

The Poet
in the evening hunkers down with
a book, to escape into another man’s
story, cut from the loincloth of his pages
she engages another brilliant mind before
her bedtime.

Death has nothing on me
I died a thousand times already
You broke me
I am two people -
One, the innocent/Split
the other you dove into uncharted waters
I drowned in a watery grave
I thought someone could save me
But that someone Jim done hurt me
But couldn’t break me
You did that for him
Where’s my decorum?
Thank You
The second time wasn’t as painful
The first cuts the deepest
Enter the blade

I’m Hollow

hollow as an unfertilized egg,
with nothing but the yolk-sac inside,
hollow as an unmarked grave, where some forgotten
soldier laid down to rest after he gave everything

he had when he was alive. Hollow as autopsied bodies
after the organs have been removed. There’s nothing
behind the slats. They’re stuck together by heat and
dust as most things are that never see the light. I’ve tried

to bring them to life. I’ve placed them neatly arranged
in kind homes, gave them a name, prayed and
hoped. And one or two of them out of the many
thousands got a little attention. For that I’m grateful for.

to take away your joy
your hope for tomorrow
to leave you stranded and bitter
to make your heart fill with sorrow
so, you become a quitter
to leave you empty-handed
to never want to love again
to make you think you have landed
because they cut off your wings
no one person has this right to control you
The stars shine brightest in the darkest sky
If the stars above me can so can I

when I’m joyful. I sing my lungs
out. And the hubster says “shut up”
and the son says “who shot the squirrel”

All I need is a song
when I’m sad and my heart is cut
up like a coffee cake but doesn’t taste
as delicious. I’ll bawl my eyes out
doing the dishes to the blues

All I need is a song
when I’m in the shower. Makes me
sing much louder. And the hubster
leaves the house for some peace. And
the son puts his headphones on to drown
me out

All I need is a song
when I’m on the ***** doing my
business of *******. I don’t bring in
magazines. Who has the time to read?

that come from the supermarket. And honey
isn’t used for tea anymore. Same as the whip
cream you buy at the store. When you’re a ****
star on a very low budget you got to be

inventive. Your phone is your camera. There is
no director. Anywhere you plant your ***
your stage is there. Whatever they donate to PayPal
is your income. You’re still selling your books

very slowly. Last month you sold four of them
only. And you think you did this because of
the recognition you got for taking all your
clothes off. This almost breaks your spirit. But you

do what you must because you know it’s all
part of the game. Plenty of artist’s have gone
insane because of the fickleness of this profession,
that strips more than what’s on the outside –
more than what buttons, zippers and ties.

you do not lull me
with your calming waves no more.
My body splinters, crashing
upon these nubs of jagged rocks.
I'm a floating piece of driftwood
that reached an empty shore.
The blazing sun, a leather whip
beats down ******* me.
Embedded in the tawny grains of sand
I lie awake so stark.
I'm ravaging. A stiff board
filled with empty holes
by scavenging birds that stripped away
all my protective bark.
When the lonely tide pulls up
to meet a crescent moon
I'll know my time has come to naught.
This piece of driftwood
will float into a salty watered grave
and leave its resting dune.

as an old sweater I outgrew
with holes big as blood clots
and unravelling
uneven, fuzzy pilling
broken fibers
tangled into knots
but not willing
to throw the tattered woolly
mammoth out
because despite the loose threads
faded color
and unsharpened arms
that look like cow’s teats
which haven’t been milked in weeks
it still provides me warmth
each time I slip it on

right
you like
her smile's bright
skin's tight
and she's chesty

Swipe
left
he's hefty
his nose, a balloon
like a Flintstone cartoon

Swipe
for a match
to land a catch
there's a rolling batch
of new pictures to

Swipe
like a line dance
to the left
to the right
did he use a filter
or is he a bodybuilder?

Swipe
your future is in your finger
Mary Ann or Ginger?

twists upside down
the second I turn around. His waterfall
hardens to glass as I pass. Something was
missing when his song

spit out like hissing. His azure eyes,
a badger. Underneath his silky sheath
of dress was armor. His teeth white as pearls
cut the hearts of little girls. And still, I stood

at his side, waiting for
the tide to wash over me in a sea
green canopy. But I drowned in the foam
I swore was my home.

the pyramids of egypt
swim the seven seas
climb Mount Everest
but I'd not find

a man so soft and kind.
I'd bathe in turquoise waters
on a shore of pink powder sand
among cockleshells and waves

that swell and still not feel myself
without you to hold my hand.
Butterflies, key lime pie and
a cornflower sky don't do a thing

for me if I'm not with you. Morning dew
would look like sweating leaves. And cotton
candy clouds would look as shrouds
on corpses hung on trees.

before it took anymore out
of me. I had to be the pins in his
coffin. I had to shoot him in the back
while he was walking. I had to do it
because if I did not, I’d lick his *****
until they fell off. He’d hide in holes
just like a mouse. We’d ****** scream
and ****** **** and go to bars.
Get ****** drunk. Fight until the fight
in us was gone. I put him to sleep once
and for all.

Was I too perfervid -
Dazzling you as the sun in mid-afternoon
Did it leave you blind?
You prefer the pall of a midnight moon
Shorn of strength/forced to grind

Was I too esoteric -
Pulling you in opposite directions
Did it boggle the mind?
You prefer those pat connections
Shorn on time/so unkind

Was I too clamorous -
Bedeviling you with this wicked game
Taut as an angling line twined
You never will be quite the same
Shorn to yourself/ left behind