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

Her decisions are petals
of a daisy,
plucked off one

by one. It makes her
crazy. She can’t undo what is
done. These gaps make her sour. Too many

for one little flower. All she can do
is hold onto the remaining ones
and hope that the light

of the sun will be forgiving to
a petulant floret, who remains sore at
the ones who tore at her petals

for their own puckish pleasures.
If all is lost
she’ll stick feathers in

where the petals have been. Each one of them
she’ll splay. Then pack up and fly
away

on a rainy day
when clouds are grey
and weeping willows
fall as feathers
from downy pillows

Take me
as is
without the make-up
and wigs
when I’m bald
as a joey
not adorned or showy

Take me
with my scars
don't try to fix'em
leave 'em as they are
hold them close
but do not smother
reverend them as
you would
your mother

Take me
over the horizon
as the red sky meets
the midnight sea
don’t look back
just cut the tethers
and we’ll fly like birds together

Don’t Get ****** Up

into the sands of another
Glistening/Reflective/Diaphanous
to see yourself passing through
the miniscule opening. Condensed in a droplet;

you’ll be the morning dew, clinging to
the blade. She’ll sharpen her teeth
on you. You’ll see her pockets as footholds. Only
to climb into something that gives

way. It’s easy to fall into quicksand. No one
to give you a helping hand. You’re sinking,
up to your neck in it. With due respect
I did warn you

before you stepped into the subterrain. It was
your biggest mistake. Tell me
before you lose consciousness
was it worth it? Was it worth all this pain?

a quick fix. When I needed a hug
you came on thick. Thick as a wool blanket
on a cold dark night. Shiny as the
armor on a Medieval knight.

You were my high
rocket in space. “Beam me up
Scotty” and we’re outta this
place. You were not subtle. I crashed
on the take-off like the Challenger Shuttle.

You were my hangover
the morning after. My head blown up
like a red balloon squeezed in the
rafters. My pieces were strewn from
popping. I laid marooned like troopers
dropping from the sky. The price of the high!

have stopped.
And the ons
turned off.
My ins

running out.
Cherry lips smile
nary. Pushed
into a pout. White

is colored black.
My front is facing
back. All my ups
are down. No longer

get around.
And the new
is old.
Like blue cheese

grown mold.
No green light.
All are red.
No blooms.

The grass is
dead. The ground's
shaded dark. Unplugged.
I lost my spark.

You Could Read This As

one of your law books you’ve been studyin’
pulling an all-nighter instead of patyin’

the morning  newspaper on your coffee break
trying to keep your eyes open enough to stay awake

a suspense novel, that keeps you up at night
until you nod off to sleep, leaving on the light.

This is a love letter written from me to you
that I put together clear out of the blue

Without trepidation/without a hidden clause
Without a legal fee/within the context of the laws

A binding contract, initialed on the X
From a very attractive person of the opposite ***

from the cloudy skies.
Dewdrops on a morning blade.
Running rivers from blue eyes.

Lolling in the Everglades.
Streaming in my clawfoot tub.
Sudsy as I sprawl and scrub.

The kettle says it hot.
Steaming in the ***.
Swirling down the drain.

A puddle in the rain.
Pour it in the coffee grounds.
But it makes some men drown.

It’s a part of me.
A drink for the flowers.
This garden’s raised on showers.

The birds wet their feathers.
Cleans the stain off my leather.
Pitter-patter on the windowpane.

How it grows the honey grain.
We need it to survive.
It keeps us all alive.

too brutal for this world
we’re geniuses when we’re undisturbed
we need to run
so, we pick us speed
shot through a gun
we penetrate deep
we’ll twist the blade inside each skull
and masquerade as something else
but beneath it all
we’re devils on the hunt
that like the ***** and ****
and the thrill of the chase
we don’t belong in any place
wherever we are
we incinerate
baby, we’re savages

Mickey Mouse
or Peter pan
Men like to hang
their head in la-la land

I'll not be silenced
or lured
not an illness
than can't be cured

I'm no Pollyanna
not restrained
like my nanna
that was trained
to smile
through all her pain

I'm not into chitter-chatter
reading and writing
is all that matters

I'm no poster child
runway model
just short and wild

have to talk about
girls behind their back.
They mock me and pretend
face to face

they are my friend. They could
talk about the weather, if it'll rain
this afternoon. That it's cold for
this month of June. They could talk

world affairs, the war in
the Ukraine. But they'd have to
have a bigger brain. They could talk
about a fundraiser for

the sick. Or even the movies that
they've seen on Netflix. They could talk
about style and design, the newest line
of clothes. The cons and pros of wearing

pantyhose. They could talk about their kids
or their pets/their vacations in the Carribean, wine
and e-cigarettes! They could talk shop. But they
talk about me till their jaws drop!

Not all of us are going to heaven
The news starts at eleven
Not all of us can be angels
Some have hearts clamped with staples
Not everyone gets the happy ending
Some of us are sick of pretending
That’s what it is!
What it is –
Straight/no chasers
Stop looking for replacements
Nothing can sew up these holes
They’re fatter than all your rolls
So, fix your place with candles and paintings
Soft music and wine
You’ll be waiting a long time

a wrinkled blouse inside out
seams and tags sticking out
you can see the fabric and the size
the cycle for washing
labeled on the collar
and the price-tag hangs how many dollars
the colors faded yellow
the buttons on the cuffs are hidden
as the holes and the stitching
looks like she was thrown in a laundry basket
she asked if she could remove port wine stains
sweat and hair and dirt ingrained?

in crime –
one who isn’t afraid to
to get caught.
It’s the thrill of the chase,
not the fear of the thought.

I need a partner
for fun –
one who isn’t afraid
to let loose.
It’s the freedom of will,
to be your own duce.

I need a partner
to love –
one who isn’t afraid
to hand me their heart.
Will let me play it again,
just like Bogart.

through the wind in a warm
waltzing breeze. Wrapped in
velvet fur men fall in layers
like crimson autumn

leaves. Her chest rises
like a leopard in the Serengeti. Eyes
all over me like a panther in
the snow. I cannot see

them. They shoot out darting
me with the evergreen
glow. She's a lone cougar
ready to pounce. Swag in

her step, flirting in her
flounce. Her footprints are
larger than the moon, marking
men with her golden perfume.

Something Beautiful

you took and put your own ugliness on it. You painted it
black with your fears and insecurities. You punished it
for being kind, for loving you. You pushed it away
and then screamed ****** ****** when it did not

call. You tested its strength every day to see how far it would go, how long it would hang on. It drove you to madness,
its perfection. You had to find a flaw. You drove it to madness
by breaking it down into decimals. And still you didn’t get

the point. You hung it outside in the freezing cold until
it was stiff. Didn’t you get rageful when it didn’t thaw as
quick as it used to. It wouldn’t snap back into place this
time. It was your second biopsy. You remember

it like yesterday. It felt like this time you pushed it
all the way into the black hole. You found something else
to fill the cavity, something that wasn’t sweet. Nothing would taste that sweet again.

an ocean
You’re lost in
the notion you
have to hold back. I’ve
build a ship. And in every
drip we’ll sail till the tip
and back.

Cry me
a river
You’re lost in
a quiver. But I’ve build
us a raft. And we’ll float
in the draft, lying back.

Cry me
a waterfall
You’re lost in
the squall. But I’ve
build me a bucket. And we’ll
roll to Nantucket breathing from
the crack I’ve cut in the back.

whattsa matter?
The rain has you
down?

Swish-Swosh
like applesauce
falling to the ground.

Ker-plunk
like a drunk
uneven.

Splish-splash
lightening flash
I believe in.

When the sky is grey
like a hornet’s nest
I'm messed
like the weather.

because
we lived it
we didn’t talk it

using useless
romantic expressions
that give the impression
that someone cares

bogus stares -
into each other’s eyes

coming home
with flowers
to say sorry

that whitewashing -
save for the laundry

eagerly
eagerly as a baby robin
falls from the tree
in spring
before
it earns
its wings

I could fall for you softly
softly as
a summer
rain shower
in the late
afternoon

I could fall for you fast
fast as
a crystal snowflake
during a
driving blizzard

I could fall for you easily
easily as
the leaves
when they reach
their peek colors
in a sequence of
red, orange and
yellow

that came out today was
the sun. And the only one I heard
was the song of the birds. The only
thing I could see standing tall

were the trees. The only thing
I could touch that was soft
was the grass on the ground. So, I
planted myself down. The only thing

that was high was the clouds up
in the sky. The only thing that moved
me was the wind. And I said to myself
what a way to begin

another day.

Gonna hold me back
Tell me what to do
Ain’t gonna take no flack
You don’t like it –
*****

I am larger than life
Gonna rise to the top
Like the yeast in a bread
I’m not gonna stop
No matter what people said

You give me no
I’ll turn it around –
To on
Aint no one
Gonna bring me down

I Look inside
through the open window.
There is bread and cheese
on the table.
Decanters filled with rose',
a beautiful, floral bouquet,
of marigolds, roses and lilies.
The girls all in white lace
and pink ribbons
are looking pretty.
The candles flicker,
from a soft breeze blowing
through the open window.
An old man sits and rocks
in his chair,
reading the daily newspaper
without care.
His face as stiff as his beard.
His interest politics
and the stock market.
I should not want to
be discovered.
The main course is coming.
I stand frozen
where I am
wondering............
There's a middle-aged woman
holding a platter,
her face intent on the contents.
She looks pretty eloquent
for a subservient.
I notice the wife at the table
spooning her soup
with the ladle.
Through the open window I watch
a dismembered family.
Looks like her husband is drunk
again on the scotch.
There's beads of sweat on his head
between what little hair is now left.
I slowly walk away.
Through the open window
music plays.....
I think the song is slow and romantic
I'm enjoying it
because I'm actually hearing the words.
I enjoyed the company.
I actually was there seeing them,
more so than they could ever
see themselves.
The boy opened the door
to let the dog out.

said this Friday
he's opening Georgia again when
bodies are still dropping. They can look
pretty for their
funeral. Their hair colored
and coiffured. Sitting pretty
on the pillow in their casket. And their
nails manicured, painted and shaped
for all to see as they lie across
their chest after this virus closes
their lungs. Yay! But they went
bowling! They knocked down the pins
as they did themselves!
Governor Kemp you're such a louse!

You grow-up with people
oohing and ahhing over you. And end
up with people leaving you
alone. That’s what it’s like in this

desolate home. Propped up
in chairs and beds in front of television
sets. Each face that I pass has a blank
expression. It’s as if they’re all waiting

around to die. They don’t have the
desire to even cry. Only apathetic looks
on their faces, as if they accepted what someone
has chosen for them. Someone else chooses

when they eat, what they eat, when they
bathe, what they wear – every little detail
just as if they were an infant again. Who knows
the lives that each one of them have lived. Who knows

the choices each one of them made before
they were waiting as prisoners to enter
their graves. Not one smile on anyone. Not one
sound of laughter or excitement.  They all look

like holocaust victims, sitting and
waiting for the end. Maybe if they’re lucky
someone visits them from the outside for a
short time. But it’s only a sad reminder

that there’s life outside these doors. It’s only
a bitter reminder that they no longer have
what they had before – their independence
their freedom. Is there any kind of life without that?

like sap from the maple
tree. You tapped into the core
of me. I poured myself out
to you under skies of cornflower

blue.  Runny as a stuffy nose,
the kind you like to blow. Pushed
out like a sneeze. You always were
a tease. Runny as dripping ice

cream from a sugar cone, sticking
to your hand, in your lap I land. Melting
as the April snow. Runny as shampoo
in the shower, down your face

across your chest, your back
and legs, a foamy dress. As I swirl
my way down the drain I'm less
and less.

the moon
may I rise.
Are you done for the night?
Did you quell all their cries?

The moon doesn’t ask
the sun
are you done for the day?
Did you warm their cold faces?
Did you cover the grey?

The cloud doesn’t ask
the sky
can I cover your blue.
with my puffy, shaped white
poured on thick just like glue.

The sky doesn’t ask
the cloud
shall we part.
I’m waiting for a star
to give me his heart.

Then neither shall I ask
for what I must do.
And in return –
Neither will you.

the nouns. The sounds can’t
pass his cheeks. High as Alpine
peaks, the air is thin soon
as he begins.

He can’t speak
the truth. It’s a decaying tooth-rotting
in his gums. Even a drill
couldn’t **** out all the tartar
crumbs.

He can’t speak
as his foot’s stuck
in his mouth. Like the swallow,
his song has flown south on wings
that grew sprouts.

He can’t speak
as the cat has his tongue. A feral
mother raised him as her young. Stuck
as a *** of gum under the high school
desk the hardened blob turns grotesque.

He can't speak
as his lips are sewn
with the splinters from all
the winters he has roamed.

on hot day
a rainbow flower
made of crimson clay
sassafras and moonbeams
whispers and silk screens
a riptide pulling you out
over your head
raising you up
as a loaf of bead
a blade of grass
you rub in your hands
a crack of thunder
that lands at your feet
a port wine stain
with a rhythmic beat
changing as a leaf
in autumn
marmalade or Marmaduke?
she has me confused

split and falling off
the string. Scattering all
around the floor, rolling
out the door. Clouded pebbles

filled with rain hide in nooks
from the broken chain. Dust bunnies
ate a couple. She took the strand,
empty, not supple to the man

behind the glass. But it wasn't light
despite all vacant tenants. And no
pennants for the years of work
to add to the string making worth

the gifts of a milky mother
clung as young to the hanging
teats of the udder.

you can
hide
or
raise
your voice
tickle
the hair
in their ear
a wallflower
never
gets watered

dry
if you take
and you don’t put in.
Love grows stale
as a garbage pail

Everything runs
taut
if you pull
in the direction
it’s not

Everything runs
efficiently
if  you grease the wheel
before it squeaks

Everything runs
out
the timer is set
as soon as we’re born –
a place of no return

If I could train myself to have people’s remarks
bounce off of me like rubber, instead of sticking to me
like blubber, it would not matter when I flubber.

If I could train myself to be happy with what I got,
instead of looking at what I’m not, I could give it
another shot.

If I could train myself to be more real,
instead of  worrying about how other people feel,
I know I would heal.

If I could train myself to wear a smile,
instead of feeling vile, I could go the extra mile.

resolve
not to always agree -
or give up what we believe
get involved
it’s called acceptance
support
encouragement
to go our own way
without fear
or conformity
I’m a whole person
with parts
not parts of a person
looking for
another person
to put my parts together
as if I’m a puzzle
there are no halves
or middles
or common ground
compromise - compromises
I can be with you
in your territory
no surprises
without changing my belief
a smidgen
we don’t need
a carrier pigeon
we can do this -

make you.
Some people
break you.
But some of the ones
that make you
are the ones
that can break you!

Some people
love you.
Some hate you.
But the ones that hate you
don't let them bait you!

Some people
stand up for you.
Some stand in the way.
Take a stand for
what you believe in
and it won't matter either way!

Some people
are friends.
Some enemies.
Only time can tell
the difference
between the two of these.

I am not spam.
Spam I am not!
Have you forgot?
You don’t give a ****
Who I am!
But…

I am not spam
You do not like
I am not spam –

Would you like it
If I digress?
Would you like it
if I suppress?
Would you like it
if I undress?

You would?
Well too bad for you!
Grow a pair!
I’m not going anywhere!

as you/no matter all the
whitewashing you do. The indelible
stain that lies under her chest

cannot be wiped clean from
her heaving red
breast. The lipstick smiles

and lilac perfume makes us grow
faint as she crosses the room. You
can’t gloss over the filthy mess

that lies under the stitching of her
lacey white dress. She can cover the
cake in satin gold cream but slice through

a piece and you'll see the gleam
only shines on the outside. The middle
is riddled with mold that crumbles

and can't hold together/overstuffed like
the drawers in her dresser. I'd not fare
to go near and undress her.

curls, as the cat. Swirls of hair
dusting the chairs,
the lamps and the bureaus.
The wooden stairs
are her heroes, carpeted
in golden honey brown. She’ll
be flying out of town.

She's shedding
light as fireflies
dancing in the night. Sparkling
as diamond rings. Fluttering
her arms like butterfly wings.

She's shedding
skin, the snake. This reptile
suffocates. Coiled up, hissing
in the grass. She has to break
this mold/pass from
the python's hold.

She’s shedding
tears as dewdrops
rolling off a leaf, high up
in the trees. She’ll water the lilacs
as she weeps. The perfume sweeps
across the rows of painted marigolds.

he was a saint. Isn’t it funny
how people believe something
that ain’t. How people follow someone
blindly until they end up a body in a

dark alley being chased by the rat who led
them there. He was not what they thought. It wasn’t
fair how I was treated. He was the only man
who had panic attacks during the ***. And then

wiped off the ***** with a towel after it. Gave me a sip
of the anisette. Took me immediately home
after that.  No, he wasn’t what they supposed. He was
a coward who froze when you needed him

most. He told me he was thinking of other things when
his patients were talking. That’s why he took
notes while he eyed my stockings. But how his smile
could wrap around the room. It didn’t take long

for women’s heads to swoon. His dark eyes could
mesmerize anyone foolish enough to look into them.
And I did.

not because I learned from them. I’m still
just as confused as I ever was. I loved them
because they were so much fun. Some of the
biggest thrills in my life, the moments I felt

truly alive is when I was doing something
utterly wrong, something totally disgraceful,
and where I shouldn’t have gone. But even though
I got hurt, and so did many others I couldn’t say

for one moment that I wasn’t truly
in my element, that I didn’t experience passion
through the fire, that I didn’t feel the ecstasy through
each cut and bleed and ***** deed that had me

spinning as a top on the edge of the table
ready to fall off at the next turn. Not knowing where
I was going but having a ******* fantastic ride
going there with my eyes closed and my hair whipping

in the wind, feeling immortal and being young
again, that kind of young when you think you’re
invincible. You can escape it all, like a James Bond
movie. I was the leading lady,  certifiably crazy!

with truth
and they run
as a herd of elephants
stomping the ground
with elegance
and popping out
as bean sprouts
swimming
in a bowl
as wiggly worms
making their way
back into the earth
because we all know
that truth hurts

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 spent in squalor and tears.

Ever beat your fists wildly
against the wind? Ever slashed
your wrists for other’s sins?
Ever lay your body like sod
for lovers to trod upon? Have you

ever stirred at the crack
of a long leather switch? Reached deep
inside to scratch an uncatchable itch?
Ever scream so loudly you choke
on the stroke of a single word? Have you

ever been so terrorized
your blood doesn’t flow it curdles?
Ever know the sound of your heart
pounding in your ear? Ever been crushed
by the weight of your own stare? Have you?

in my backyard
make it hard for my
winged, feathered friends
to have a bite of seed. They

climb and swing, claw
everything. They’ve broken
two feeders!  On my Oak acorns
are found. And in the fall the brown

nuggets line the ground
like a rug. But still doesn't stop the
pesty thugs! They take over like
a thundercloud. Grey as they are –

in my backyard

in a sky full of fire? When did
the pain turn to desire? It rains
splinters in the yard. Every broken
shard is sharpened with the axe,

and thrown back, poking holes
in their stories. They trumpet, the morning
glories in bright blue, climbing on
a twisted vine. Cutting their twine with

a searing hue in burgundy
till they bleed out their petal heads
jerkily. Smirking and mounting the steed,
riding off after planting the seed!

yesterday. He's a blazing
heatwave. Her emerald-green grass
cut down to hay. His sidewalk you can fry

an egg. She walked across and burned
her feet. Blisters popped
every chance they meet. She singed

herself dancing in fire. When you run so fast
you're bound tire. She was spring once,
in full bloom. Her sweetness filling

every room, spilled perfume. He was thirsty from
the draught. Hung-over with mouth hung out. She
nursed him back to health. But this sickness

you cannot see. No, this sickness did not
leave. It was their shadow. Hanging on, wrapping
around them as a cloak, sticking to them as

egg-yolk in the frying pan. Some call this the stuff
fairy tales are made of. A slave to the dance,
the sickness, the trance. The heat, the high.

She's not as she is. She's not herself.
And she's not his.

of love. They write
poems of war, of beautiful
woman you’ve not seen
before.

They write poems
of mountains, lakes
and streams, of birds
and books and trees.

They write poems
of death and life –
poems to put you to sleep
and keep you up at night.

They write poems
at their desk,
in the blackness of
their closet, on their hands
or a napkin. Something happens –

and so they write

chipping off the painted
color. Twisted as a cruller,
hollow and hard. Life’s duller
after the accident. It’s an unlit

cigarette, a junkyard red corvette
folded like an accordion, scraps of old
pieces of tin. Memories mixed with lime and
gin don't wash out this suffering. Dings

and dents of cellulite. Dimpled skin
that once held tight now hangs low
just like the blues and mistletoe. The soft
December snow clings to the frosted window.

something
that can’t be
undone
think about it
please
once it’s
out there
once released
it’s there
in memory –
always
to be
called upon
so, think about it
before
you do
something
wrong
calm down
sleep it off
take a walk
don’t do it
in the heat
of the moment
because if
you do
it will
come back
to bite you

in the morning
as the sun jumps over the horizon
as the sleepers crawl out of your eyes and
the coffee percolates.

She's not there
in the noon
as calls fly over the wire
and papers stack up like
flames of a fire
in a room filled with binders and files
with a wall lined with subway tiles.

She's not there
in the evening
as you stare at the empty chair
eating the frozen dinner
you microwaved.
Running your fingers through
a memory you shaved.

She's not there
in the night
as the moon sits flat
as a crepe. And you look
at a show that you taped.
The sheets on her side of the bed
don't pucker. And you can’t kiss
or tuck her in. So, you drown
in your fifth of gin.