after the fire. She hangs
in the air like her mother’s bloomers
on the clothesline, blowing in the dusty
greed of yesterday’s deceased. Not a thing

stands. The bark is stripped from
the trees. Life with tied hands is hard. She
loosens her hips to let in a rolled
cigar. When the sky is blazing red, you can

water it, put it out like the trash. But
the fog lurks as the Boston strangler. And every
corner smells like pantyhose wrapped around
her elongated nose. The stub of a smoked cigarette

thrown on an ivory bar that is lit burns as
the tomb of the unknown soldier. She's that soldier carrying
her canteen. She lost her green at the age
of thirteen. The doctors said "PTSD" You can't wash

the stench off. It's a pockmark she lives
with. Covers it in make-up and garters, smiles
and lace, *****, and poetry -
that no one reads.

Would you please stop
reading into my intentions
come down off your high horse (or rabbit)
you boggle my mind with your all

or nothing stance
I know you want to hate me right now,
and that's OK
I've written you lots of emails in my head,

but they are too long at the moment
to put into words
despite the hurtful "shadowy corners"
I want to see you tomorrow

Runaway Bunnies don't want to be lost,
they want to be found; that's why they run away
there should be a banner above your hutch
to remind you of that

was a dark bar. The kind
you go when you don’t want to
be seen. After unethical ***
when you are dressed you hide

inside the hole and watch football
on the wall. You can see every play
in this place, no matter where you’re
seated. They’re also generous with

the drinks. They give you the martini
with an extra little glass that has the excess
from the pour, with ice to keep it cold. And all

the olives you can swallow if you’re
too cheap to order food from their menu. You
can go out the back entrance that leads into
the local parking lot if you forgot your money

to pay. This has happened over and again. But
it looks like he just went to the bathroom.

your hands
a dancing butterfly
as golden grains of sand
you couldn’t hold onto it
it didn't belong to you

You let it slip through
your pearly lips
big as the Titanic ship
and it died in a stormy sea
as a razor honeybee
after the sting
losing your flighted wings

You let it slip through
the cracks
you're a train that's
run off the tracks
you crashed

You let it slip through
into the future
as a ticking clock
hanging on the wall
and it stalled

He loved me
until he didn't.
I was diverting
until I wasn't.

This was a novelty
until it wore off.
He built me up
until he tore me down.
He was at home
until he wasn't around.

I was his shadow
until I wasn't me any longer.
I was in pain
until I grew stronger.

put me in
stitches. But I won’t let them
tie me up. I hitch myself
to a star and swing out on a

milky bar. If I have an itch, I won’t
switch my plans. I’ll just take them
in a new direction! None can tell me
to ditch my dreams, or pitch to me

their button-down
schemes. I have this twitch. And I won't
unhitch my dreams. A glitch is only
temporary.

in the cold of winter
as leaves splinter,
not just in June
as roses bloom
and the lark sings. I’ve
broken wings.

Stand by me
when I’m thin as a spring’s
pond covered in ice. I’m ready
to crack. I bore the weight
of this world on my back.

Stand by me
as I'm shorn, grounded
as a peppercorn. I fall
down as black powder. I, once
white as snow, turned yellow
on the road.

with the slightest breeze
his flame blows out into the
wind. Circling and billowing in
my honey hair I cough and choke

breathing in his air. He burns
both ends every day, growing smaller
as he melts away. He doesn't break
as glass. He weeps hot wax

running down his wick, till he
looks a homeless bearded man
that's sick. Bent over he passes
gas in his holder. And smolders as

a cigarette. The **** years
of work and sweat. No light, no flame
no ivory tower, just a stump of man
with dreams that soured.

if I touch him
he’ll splinter. Bare
as the trees in winter. He wrestles
as the leaves. And he

nestles in the wood. Bark peeling
as the paint on my hood. The robin
doesn’t nest. The squirrel doesn’t
run on his branches. For friends

he’s none.  Even the woodpecker
hasn’t a slot! His trunk has holes
as fisherman’s knots.

that I ignored
stood out
like the crimson cape
of the matador. And every

sword
he flung -
I ignored the
barbed edge

that stung.  I charged
ahead as I bled. Was it
pomp and circumstance
that led me to

this deadly dance? Was it
brawn that made me
float just like a swan? And as he
took a bow, standing straight

for the crowd
of his fellow men
was it I that then
saw the flag
raised again?

at the bottom
of the *******

Jack box. After wading
through rocks of sugar-
coated clumpy munchies

you end up with a scrunchy
that snaps as you
have it hold your pony.  Not

real, a phony covered in
thin paper. Thin as a wafer. If
you savored the edible trip

you could have lapped
the journey of cardboard
that pulled all the chords of

your red velvet harp. But no! You’ve
a tummy-ache and a rubber snake
for your woes!

will deaden you. It’s a slow
trip to hell –
It takes away your
memory. Makes you do

stupid things.   Gives you a big
head.  Makes you puke. Eats away at
your brain. Causes damage to your
liver and other organs.

Stops a heart from beating.

It took away my friend –

is wanting some of you,
hoping not to ask for more
than my fill. I know you're
taken. But this love

we share can't be denied. It
makes our time together have
purpose because it's so limited  -
but my dear the rest of my week

seems worthless, because the sun
only shines from your smile. And the
stars only glow in your eyes. And I
only know this moment -
locked in your arms tonight

swept me up
as a wave, over my head. I was
a slave. I crashed up against
the rocks. No more comfy
pillow talks.

The pain
swallowed me whole
as a beached whale
rolled onshore
stored in the fat
of a carnivore.

The pain
sliced through me
as a shark, moving stealthily
in the dark. Till I was
floating body parts.

The pain
submerged me
as a submarine
to the bottom-
the abyssal plain
where there’s no sunlight
only sediment as my terrain.

sitting on my windowpane. I strain
to see him. He can fly
into that azure sky. But I can’t
touch his feathers. He only sits
as a stick.

Yesterday’s a bird
that flew. He was there! I saw
him square as my window. Now
he’s a billow.

Today’s a bird
in my hand. He takes
as I give him. And if I’m
sure of myself –
sure as the snow melts
on the late spring grass
I’ll know if I should
steady my hand
or wave my arm
like a flag at half-staff

These abused children
grow up to be the neurotic
adults you see. You encounter them

at work, in the stores, in the gym
in your own therapist, a homonym of
the latter. What’s it matter? It

matters everything. They go on spreading
the germ, like a worm in an apple. God didn’t make
little green apples to be eaten by worms

I Put On

a smile
like dungarees
to tease men
as I die inside
to hide the scars –
men see stars
lipstick pants
dance

I put on
**** lingerie
beg men
not gay
showing the rabbit hole
down below –
not the gaping ditch
in my soul

I put on stilettos
cuts into my bunion
men peel me
as an onion
but they’ll not cut
to the center
of my splinters

cheap cigars
they’ll smoke you
as they stroke you
then idle as a car

Men are
vultures
flying overhead
swirling as a blizzard
in your satin bed
till you bled
as a ******
newlywed

Men are
storm clouds
raining on your parade
blowing out your light
leaving you shade

Men are
Venus Fly Traps
the closer you stand
they snap
trapped in
soft hair
and cherry grin
they have you pinned

Men are
rivers
travelers carried away
and running
emptying out themselves
like broken plumbing

up isn’t going to
make me dance. Barking
as a dog isn't going to make
me cuddle. Squawking as a cockatoo

will only make me
leave the room. High pitched voices
cut across me as nails on
a blackboard, only leaving you

hoarse. Volume deafens
and threatens the listener. Level voices
are from level heads. And I won't turn
mine toward a wrecking ball that only squalls.

once you’ve left
the safety of the ledge
you can’t climb back
to the landing –
the place you were standing

You can’t uncook
the meat in the frying pan
once it hits the heat
it’ll not be raw again

You can’t unsay
the words you’ve said
once they slip pass the lips
they’re lost in the abyss

You can’t undo
the thing you’ve done
like a knot tied in a rope
once you slide down
the slippery *****

You can't untangle
the mess you're in
like snarls in hair
you can't brush out
the strands matted
and clumped together
like hair down the drain
you can't sew it on
the head
like crusts cut off
a piece of bread

You can’t unlive
this life you have
you can’t go back
in a time machine
and live the dream

What's it like on the inside
Before the day breaks?
Before your head aches?
You precariously hide
Sleeked
A blood orange lipstick smile

What's it like on the outside
After walking the street?
After feeling totally beat?
You notoriously cried
Streaked
As black graffiti on subway tile

the big bad wolf
and blow and blow
until I knock some houses down
and expose the pigs inside
hiding in their clothes
and Clementine’s

I’ll Be

the voices inside my father’s
head
the one on the left      the one on the right
that way I’ll always be with him

I’ll Be

the ghost writer
for some famous author
who stole all they know from a drunken woman
who had no soul

I’ll Be

ruminating over a pizza tonight
I’d ask you to join me
but I wouldn’t want to disturb your Pollyanna smile
while I’m deliberating over committing suicide

will be the last
there will be. Five years
down the drain. Thank god
for the bottle;
that’ll relieve the pain. He got
all high and mighty
because I said he wimped out
of his dreams to be
a rock star. He wrote
that famous song that
Rod Stewart sings. Been to Hollywood,
was introduced to Burt Bacharach
at a party among other things. I think
I touched a nerve. I think hit a button. But
with this type of man, it’s better to say
nothing because the eggshells that line
the floor makes it extremely difficult
each time he opens the door into
the room where his fragile ego lays. Hell,
I can wipe the yolk off the bottom now;
because today was my very last day.

so, I can pop
the top off
and go back to bed. Pick
a blonde or red head

to do the job instead. I can
switch the body if I gained
a little weight if I’m not
in great shape. So, interchangeable

as this, and all before
breakfast! I would not have to
change clothes. Just pop the top
and out I goes.

me a river that flowed to the sea
could cry in my cup for eternity
cry until the sun burns the earth
till every baby’s birth has seen
them grow old as the mountains
painfully stinging cold as the snow
and you’d sit and shake your head
as if you can’t grasp a thing I said

I could cry
me a thick ink sky
shooting a billowing black cloud
as the octopus
punching my fists in the air
my tears so jagged
they cut down the trees
and you’d take umbrage at my pain
as if I turned your glitter into lead
poking holes in your made-up bed

I could cry
out splinters
cutting my eyes
til the bloods spill
into all your lies
and you’d lay drenched
in a pool of red
standing as a blade of grass
till I passed over you like a mower
as if this could make the pain
move slower

in the morning
in the evening
Sing in the open air
Sing in the rain
not quietly
Sing until you break glass
until you build an audience
Sing your heart out
Sing it fast
Sing it slow
whatever your pace
just let it go
don’t worry about what they’ll say
or how they’ll think
sing until the sun turns pink
until the grasshopper’s dance
and if you’re anything like me –
until you *** your pants

hair
in rollers
for curls
that bounce

I set my
table
for food
in large amounts

I set my
clock
for eastern
standard time

I set my
oven
for three hundred
and fifty degrees

I set my
mind
to do
what I please

And I was wet.
As we ran together
he began to sweat.
We stuck and rolled

into a soft, cool globe.
We rested, then were tossed
high into the air,
circled and flared.

An avalanche fell upon us.
And cloaked us in white.
We both got drunk on the sauce,
cooked with spice.

The heat made us rise.
We were so sweet,
with red cherry peppers
for cheeks.

They all called us pie.
I was wet.
He was dry.

He was supposed to help me,
not help himself to me.
Supposed to show me
how to help myself,
not help myself to his body.
He was supposed to listen to me,
not the sound of his gaudy voice.

I was supposed to leave healed,
not broken pieces sealed in an envelope,
after pushing the bounds down the slippery *****.
It was supposed to last a few months,
not sixteen years.
It was supposed to cost me in dollars -
not a life in squalor and tears.

an inked spot
surreptitiously hung
a birthmark
copiously sprung
black smoke
filling up my lungs

I'm every song unsung
He's cut off the top
of my tongue
I grow back as stubble
till he doubles his precision
not as I envisioned
stepping on me
climbing the rungs

what’s the point? I’m going
out

and walking off
all this hurt, less I

blurt something
worth saying if someone

could only pay attention,
ahem…

oh, never mind
no

gawd! Here we go

dough
needed life to grow
that folded and pressed
and stretched
all the years of their lives
with structure and strength
to roll out and mold
that they have not to hold
watered and powdered
and turned
everything they have learned
into the bread
and fed their family and friends
with their hands
and still reap the salt
from this land

that swing into your life and swing
back out again. Too hung up to call! Living in their
shanty walls. Fragmented pieces are tiles
on their floor. Sticks are their roof, that don't

waterproof the spoor. Their "welcome mat"
written in children's play chalk! Snow covers
the letters erased from a spring rain. I'm replaced
as a glass of champagne.

in pieces, you shatter
as brains splattered from
the shot of a gun. Your insides
spill out like a puzzle, in red

blue, and yellow. You lay in
your waste as a baby in a day-old
diaper. Crawling out your head
a two-foot viper. Your limbs

unhitched, when only before they
held on by a stitch. Your eyes rolled
back. But the whites are not white. They're
stained satin black. And none of

the king's horses or the king's
men can put back your pieces together
again.

the green ground is
sky. I’m down in
the sewers,
the bowels of life,

a hole the rats
run rampant. Here I camp and
walk in the dank. The stench is
alarming in this waste-filled

tank. I haven’t seen
light after I fell in. I couldn’t tell
you exactly when. But I slipped
in like a mickey drink. At first

I'm flushed by this kink. The pain is
familiar. But I, bigger this
round. Too big for man to pull me
out of myself. So, I drowned.

where is he? No answer on
his cell. Hell, I’m not standing
for this. It was just this afternoon I was
on his couch engaged in a kiss, and groping

session. Now it’s New Year’s Eve and almost
eleven and he’s not answering his phone. I’m
going to take my sorry bones down to his home
and find out myself just what he’s doing and who

he’s doing it with. Maybe this might be a
death wish. It’s a ten-minute drive-in agony
because I’m fantasizing of what awaits me. When I
get there the house is dark. I knock on the door. No

answer. I keep pounding away until something comes
out of the dark haze, groggy and confused. “What
time is it” he asks not amused. It’s 11:30, I tell him as I
walk right past the entrance. Where is she? Where is

Who? The girl you're hiding. There is no girl. Was I
delusional? I’ll find her myself. I walk up the stairs
to his bedroom. Nothing but a barren bed with the covers
drawn back. If there’s no one else then I’ll be the

one. So, I took off my clothes and climb
into it. And he said “Good God, there’s a naked PATIENT
in my bed” So he jumped in with me. And that’s how
we celebrated New Year’s Eve 2014!

I’d slip in through
your screen
without being seen
encircle you
as a gentle breeze
raising the hair
on your arm
as a dandelion
on the lawn

wrap around
your unbuttoned collar
waltzing under your shirt
as a six-leg crawler
making my nest
there in your chest
your heartbeat
makes me jump
as a toad
splashing out
of the water

if this makes me
odder
to not be seen
but living in
cut, cotton fabric
the trestles of bone
and shingles of skin
my home –
if I was the wind

she sits, a stone.
An ivory tower
as they drone.
Like a lilac flower

she blends in
the mauve curtains.
Drinking her tonic and gin.
The clink of ice and chit-chat.

She nods and smiles.
So still, she's sat
it pains her piles.
Women flutter

like butterflies.
Men stutter
straightening their ties.
Walking to the table

of crackers and cheese
she can't stable
her wobbling knees.
She takes a bite

and wipes her lips.
A smudge of pink
on her lace napkin.
Her hair piled high

with a hatpin.
She sips
her watered drink.
The lanky guy

blinks like a light.
His unzipped fly
makes her shrink
like bubbles in the sprite.

He weaves in and out
with an open mouth.
Talks with a drawl
like a hick from the south.

She's uninvited.
So, she can't decline.
Is she slighted?
Or out of line?

of winter set in. And I wish the sun
was a soccer ball so I could
kick it higher in the sky, so high
I’d part the clouds with a comb, and

string them all together in a ponytail
so, they wouldn’t block the face
of earth. And as for the barren trees
who leaves have fallen like my breast that

look like burlap sacks I’d paint them all
in bouncing polka-dots so they’d resemble
rainbow sprinkles on top a birthday. Then I
would not have to eagerly wait for the coming

of another spring. Because color would
abound. And if the ground turned to
frost. I’d dye the dew a purple hue
that it would think it lavender. And then

it wouldn’t matter what the season be or what
the calendar said. Because believe you me
we’d paint the pretty picture in our head.

an apple
round and green
hanging on the tree
you picked me
and took a bite
discarding my core
you took as you did
and didn’t want more

I once was
a tissue
soft and light
lying in a brightly colored box
nestled with the others on top
you pulled me out
wiped up the crud
leaving me stained
and useless –
a dud

I was once
a rainbow
violet, blue, red, green
orange and yellow
an arch in the azure sky
you crossed me
painting me black
and not looking back

I once was
a thought
that floated in the reverie
of a man's head
golden as the sunset
mellifluous as a song
warm as a bubble bath
till his head filled
with dates and numbers
headlines and lunch
and I was snuffed out
as a candle in the wind
my light dimmed

in the rink.
He wears no
padded gloves,
instead opts for

brass knuckles. To hit
and not be hit
you must have rhythm
and wit. You got to

dance inside the
ropes. You can’t rely solely
on hope. You’ll get your
share of punches, nose

bleeds and aching
muscles.  There’s not
always a referee to
oversee, especially as an

adult. You’ve got to do it
yourself. And when you’re
down for the count you must
muster the strength to stand up.

Watch the Video - Sandra Palladino (on YOUTUBE)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x6BZmkzxRJc

Gold can **** You

it turns a woman of need
into a crime of greed
taken in by all the glitter
it outdid her
and turned her crown to brass
she had no class
everything that shines is not of light it seems
it ruins dreams

out of life
as I did with my hair as
a ten-year old child
that didn’t care. It was a cinch and

did the job fast. I’d throw
the mass in the trash. It looked like
a nest that the Robin hatched

her chicks in. Women are
snarly. And so are men. And I,
too. It’s hard to brush through
the clumps of life. My head is

an ocean. My hair, the crashing
waves. And the men are all lice. I’d
like a clean shave!

Began –
Then ran
Puzzled –
I was trouble
Wouldn’t give me a break
So, I escaped
Back to you

where the trees are
my home. No walls or
doors/no ceilings or floors. The dirt
between my toes. A scent of pine

dancing under my nose. The wind
blowing my hair. A log for my
chair. The bellowing of the bullfrog. Sedges
and heaths by the bog. The tat-tatting

of the woodpecker. No hat or
coat checkers. No small talk
where men flock to gawk at woman
in pairs. The azure sky and country

air. Woody vines/not long lines
or the weight of a heavy stare. No red satin
dresses. Here you won’t find stresses. The only
thing running is the river. A sliver of paradise

without a price. And the stars don’t sue/just shine
in a paisley-colored sky.

when the trees were stark
the days cold and dark
ground hard with frost
the cost of love lost

Remember June
when heads fell swoon
slept like bears till noon
dancing silhouettes under the moon
trees as green as the grass
warm days slowly pass

in love too much to ask
if this ember can light December
like the star on the tree
or drop like mercury

in the gut
with a fist full of apples
from the trunks of his eyes,
cutting me in pieces

like ma's hot pies. Burnt as the
flambe', sliding off him, like whipped
cream. All part of a sick girl's
dream. Like Swiss cheese,
you can stick your finger through

the holes in me. The floating
noodle in the soup. Lying flat
and soggy, a clucking chicken
in the coop. Sitting on the

eggs. Thought I'd crack,
or less be scrambled. I shouldn't
have gambled on the man. Should
have seen the cleaver and ran!

like the cow over the moon
like the horse jumping the hurdle
you make my blood curdle
like an athlete vaulting the high bar
I've pushed you out of my head this far

I’m so over you
like a skydiver descending in a parachute
flying in the air
everything’s little up here

I’m so over you
I tell myself over and again
we aren't friends
and go to the ends of the earth
to show it
but sometimes I just blow it

gold
when it was
glitter dust
I was sold on the love
when it was only
heavy lust

I saw
a hero
riding a steed
but it was a coward
not taking the lead

I saw
castles
but they were made
out of sand

I saw
a friend
lending a hand
but as I was broken
off he ran

somewhere in the middle. Riddled
with flaws, and translucent
as gauze. Two painted walls
flaking. Two unattended hearts

breaking. I leaned on him. He on
me. Both of us dead batteries. Wires cut
and sparks flying.  Fires begin with two
bodies lying. I lived to tell, all the while
he burned in hell.

Read: "Love Outside The Boundaries" by Sandra L. Wyllie