to him
like echoes my screams
bouncing back to me
in painted sound
that shook the ground
I stood standing
and touched down
as an airplane landing
in a storm of turbulence
skidding off the runway
of his indifference

I call out
over the wire
holding my breath
placing my head next to the cell
pulling my hair back
to hear the recording, I knew well
after the beep I weep
hummingbirds flittering
like meat in the stew, I sit in it
a simmering shrew

I call out
to an empty room
the walls have ears
but don't hear me
as silence looms like fog
filling a swamp
and like peat on the bog
I sink in the romp

my fingers and toes. I can
count on tomorrow coming and
going, even without knowing
what will become. I can count on

the sun rising in the morning and
setting in the evening. I can count
on the changes that come with the
seasons. I can count on death taking

us away. But where it will take us
I cannot say. I can count on the tide
rising and falling, the stars in the sky,
the nightingale calling. I can count on

babies being born, suckling their
mother’s breast, and the robin in spring
preparing her nest. I can count on
snow giving me a chill, and the smell of

steak when its cooking outside
on the grill. After all this time
I thought I could count on myself –
but found I could not.

time
was something
he had a lot of –
but not for her
it wasn’t in the cards
where do broken hearts go
when they’re faced down
in a row
blunter than a ******
he hadn’t the guts
to keep her
no one wants to hear the truth

play nice
by the rules
this is not Uno –
you can’t reverse
analyze the therapist
his ego hurt
she matched red
another one shed
he had more than what he could use
sad, sad news
now she was left with only one
but no one won
she walked away
never to see him again
everything has an end
a color
and a number

the way they ought to be -
Sometimes within lies deepest doubt.
A sapling before an abundant fruit tree!

Sometimes not ripe for the picking.
Hard and small, initially unformed.
Sometimes, a different way of thinking.
Before you see it transformed!

Sometimes the hardest shell -
Bears the softest fruit.
Sometimes we think we know it well.
That's when we stop the pursuit.

down
as my *****
to my stomach. With Covid,
the stocks took a plummet.

Everything backs
up
as the drain
in my tub. The acid
in my esophagus is thick
as a hippopotamus. And the line
into the store is a mile
from the door!

Everything slows
down
as my bowels. It *****
as I’m older. No pun, but my metabolism
can stand a motor. And my life's
put on pause. This virus
made new laws.

Everything speeds
up.
Time is escaping. But the death toll
is breaking me. We're making
history!

We Hung

like moneys in the trees. Hung
like a weather-vane blowing in all
directions. Hung with love and affection. We
hung like a horse through borderline raging,

scratching, hitting, bleeding and ******
harassment. We hung like two skeletons
in the closet. Hung like my mother’s wash
on the clothes line that stretched from the

back porch to the forest. Hung like a 10-inch
***** that’s been pumped a trillion/zillions
times. But who’s counting! Hung like sassafras
and willows. Hung through breast cancer

and heart surgery-your wife/my son. Hung
like Clinton’s impeachment. Like a jury with
no inditement. Hung when I betrayed you
not once, but twice. Hung when I searched

your desk and your files. Hung like Japanese
lanterns into that dark night. Hung like
a man swinging in a noose for his crime. Even if he was
innocent.  Hung until his death. But his death so inspired.

time legs. Drink till you
empty. Now the cup's filled
with dregs. The leak in

the ceiling's only
a drip. The crack in the cup
broke off just a chip. The Ker

plunk is growing louder
than the horns from ships
in the harbor, cutting into the dregs

like shears from the barber. How did
a dewdrop rolling off a golden tile
grow to a baseball pitched

ninety-three miles an hour? How did
the rose porcelain not break in half?
How did it live through this gypsy impact?

death will come,
to me, my love, or anyone.
to friend, or foe who knows

the end? so, let us spring
to life again! and see the green
against the black. welcome all,

and not turn back.
feel the feelings, express them.
release the tears; don’t suppress
them.

you want purpose?
purpose is this -
Death can kiss my raised-up fist.

shut your mouth. You ran over
carcasses that you outwardly flout. Don't throw
stones till you lived in my house! Don't point
fingers when you didn't lend me a hand. If you

wore my shoes you couldn't even stand. I've
walked miles with blisters and bruises. I'll not
listen to what a man's views is. A man eating from
a silver-spoon, a man that is a tycoon has

only clay feet. He parades in suits
on the street past the homeless lady with
the swollen face, past a group of teenagers
of colored race. The only thing swollen on
him is his head and his wallet. The only thing

colored is the stone is his collet.  I call it
a crime to hear him speak, to lift his nose
and say that I'm weak. I'm still moving in tattered
shoes, still climbing even as I'm bruised.

I'm rid of men.
I'd rather have paper and pen.
I'd rather my feet planted on ground.
I don't like my head spinning around.

I'm so glad
I've burst this bubble.
All it did was cause me trouble.
Now my eyes see clear the day.
Now I don't get in my way.

I'm so glad
to sleep so sound.
Not tied/not bound
to some romantic notion.
Not weeping oceans
and drowning on dreams.
Serenity instead of screams.

I'm so glad
I kicked the habit.
All the years I tried to grab it.
Clutching and clawing what wasn't mine
only to find he wasn't worthy of me.
Glad to leave a fading memory.

a little more pain
from yesterday
a little more rue
a little sorer
my pores are open wells
a bottomless cavity
of lost hopes
and dreams
wanting to fly
but no place to land
sitting as a vegetable
susceptible to
be canned

because it was easier
to put it on me
easier to play the victim
in a situation
you set up yourself
three-hour phone calls
about running stallions
asking me to come into your office
after hours
so you can stick your tongue
down my throat
then use me
as your scapegoat
you couldn’t see past
the transference
you had the degree –
a piece of paper on the wall
has no assurance
that the man in the chair
isn’t ****** up himself
you hated me
because no one else
was around
you couldn’t live
with what you did
you couldn’t look
in the mirror
at what you’d become
you’d rather **** yourself
than face
what you’ve done

of harden earth and crowded
weeds, forests and shady trees.
Chipmunks dashing in
and out of her holes. And

scurrying little rat-like moles.
Everywhere are shades of greens,
running brooks and bubbling
streams. The sky is peppered  

with dark grey clouds. And sprinkled
by salty drops of clowns, blowing
their noses in heavy showers. And
an assortment of turtleneck flowers.

You'll be lost in the winding paths of
crimson leaves and robins splashing in teal
birdbaths. Circling till the barn owl shrieks
with her pale rounded cheeks.

burn this red candle
it shrank so low
it’s flat as my sandal

glowing a golden amber flame
standing ***** at the windowpane
melting beads of teardrop wax

hoping soon you’d drive back
till the light choked
billowing clouds of dusty black smoke

I will no longer
hold this door ajar
looking out for a shooting star
spring flew as the robin
after a cold winter of sobbing
and falling like the autumn leaves
cracking neath the boy’s hot feet

under the glass
dome, that is my home
life moves as the wind around
me. But I can’t catch

a breeze. I see woman
chasing children. Children
chasing mirages, looking ****
mosaic collages. The colors all

run, the crimson and the marigold,
the azure unrolled. I hear the laughter
of boys going after girls. As I stand
inside my silence it deafens me -

their reverie.

just a hollow body
I was innocent once
worshiped the fist
punched in the face
as a child –
taught to quit
pulled by the hair
spat on
made to feel
I was to blame
for her frustrations
clawed me with talons
scared me with words
I could rely on
something
happens to you
when you are told
you will amount
to nothing
I’m nil
I could swallow
a bottle
and **** me
I’d be
hollow
as I am
still
no heart
no innards
for vultures
to gorge
just a shell
of a self
in hell
filled
with other
mockingbirds

Tell me nothing is wrong.
Tell me I’m strong.
Tell me not to cry,
But not give me a reason why.
Tell me all it’ll blow away.
If that’s what you say.

God only gives you what you can handle.
Time will take away the pain.
There’s a light at the end,
if you say so, my friend.

Tell me nothing is wrong.
Tell me I’m strong.
Tell me not to cry,
But not give me a reason why.
Tell me it’ll all blow away.
If that’s what you say.

Others are less fortunate than you.
What doesn’t **** you makes you stronger.
I don’t think I can last any longer.

Tell me nothing is wrong.
Tell me I’m strong.
Tell me not to cry,
But not give me a reason why.
Tell me it’ll all blow away.
If that’s what you say.

I’m so sick of clichés.
No one understands.
They think they do, but they don’t.
They need something to say.
But I’d be better off if they don’t.

Today’s a great day
to start what I want
Tomorrow’s a day
to put off what haunts

Today’s full of chances
Tomorrow’s only bribes
Today’s lively dances
Tomorrow’s undescribed

with your Big plans
and Big dreams
Big ideas
and Big schemes
Black and fat
as a storm cloud
with a leather jacket
as your shroud
tough as gristle
with an attitude
as thistle
thick as cement
and hell-bent on
the things you don’t have
brass is your knuckles
tacks for your eyes
you’re so sticky
you scare off the flies
I’m scared of you
I’m so little
I fit in your shoe

into empty nothingness. I’m not
anything but vast plains of
dried grain. I’m a desert. I used
to be a fruit bowl. But now I’m a
dust bowl. There is no life here
at all. I drink myself into
dehydration. It’s just a matter
of time before incarceration. I wish
I could say I’m made of what I do –
yesterday it was real calf-fur boots
New Balance sneakers, and a couple
bottles of *****.

turned to lies
when you were
no longer special
in his eyes

in the beginning
he promised you
the sun
and the moon

but when a shadow
was cast
his promises
didn’t last

they went from
vroom vroom
to a flat
they went from

a helium balloon
to a deflated
piece of trojan
thrown

in the trash
after the explosion
you are feeling
used

like someone
ran over you
with their words
it hurts

after you spread
your petals
to be plucked
as the dinner goose

and stuffed
with time
plenty of time
to feel used
as a lemon rind

thick as the gravy train
lumpy as ma’s mashed potatoes
soft in the right spots – talk to me laters
lick the spoon

I will beg
I’m the dog wanting to get out
Jump on you as soon
as you enter the room
lick my ****
this is true –
not just a farce
and sing a tune

of snow you grow cold. Crushed beneath
the sharp ice you harden as a steely knife. Oil’s
beneath the layers, a Michelangelo painting,
straining to soften beneath the winter coffin.


When you live life covered in a blanket
of lies truth is a butterfly. It flutters past
you. Can you catch the winged apprentice,
or shall it knock you senseless?

When you live life covered in a blanket
of leaves, a breeze can scatter you. Not like
a nest firmly packed, high in the trees. Can you
go on with no notes to the song? How shall you
string it together, with wax and leather.?

to make them smile
shake my hips
undo the buttons of my top
bat my eye lashes
flash my pearly whites
this girly lives to dance and sing
move to the left
swing to the right
it's hard to be uptight
dancing for my life
take up all the space
don't stand in place
like a mannequin
pluck the strings on the mandolin
music brings us together
you can strum a note
sitting from your chair
you can hum a line
that can part his hair
bare your heart
wear out your soles
do this
and you won't grow old

a rounded pebble stuck in
the groove of your red Nike
sneakers. You can't shake
off. You walk with it rolling

in your socks. Stabbing into
your sole, leaving a hole.
She's sound pounding in your
head from two hundred watt

speakers. The flammable,
bubbling liquid poured inside the
beakers of your lab. She's the gin and
tonics you drank and the tab! She's ricotta

cheese in the ravioli. You can't see
her till you break into her slowly.
She's burning you like indigestion.
Something you accept and do not question.

I believe if you have something
you should flaunt it. Don’t be ashamed
of what others say. They’re just jealous,
anyway. Be proud of yourself. Don’t hide

from the world. Wear that lipstick
smile. Glide in that slender dress, the one with
the low-cut neck. Sing a song of love and
pain. Cry out loud. But don’t remain hidden as

a rock beneath the leaves, silent as a hawk
above the trees. Make a statement. Show the world
you are not the average girl.

the sunflowers droop
their golden heads, shedding their
silky petals. Life’s a simmering kettle
kept on the stove. Why do women

settle for weeds, and not hold out
to flower? Why is the sun playing hide
and seek? And the moon can't turn the other
cheek? The grass has turned to straw. Winter's

only splintered and not a thing
has thawed! I look out at the day as
a rerun, just like the men. I swear they're all
spun from the same reel. Where are the men

of steel? Have they all run off
the horizon?  No surprise then that I'm
solitary and bury my head in my poetry. Not like
my clothes, it fits me. I take the pen over

the rose. Spilled ink over thorns. I don't shrink
as I do in prose.  It's my link to the world and grows.

my skin like an orange
sliced me in pieces
with a paring knife
squeezed out the juice with a syringe
cut back the hanging fringe
dropped the rind in a glass of gin
smiled that smile, his crooked grin
and swallowed
after he hollowed me -
He spit out the seeds.

the ocean, unleashed
from the sandy den? Do you smell
the salt of the sea? Are the sand fleas
waltzing in the air?  Can you

hear the crashing waves
as you squirm and wiggle,
flapping those flippers? Are you
not afraid that you haven’t

slippers? It’s a hike
for a little guy that can fit
in the palm of my hand. And predators
are waiting above to scoop

you up in their mouths. Still, you forge on,
not looking back. And if you make it
to the water’s edge and a white cap has you

riding her back are you then free of
attack? The ocean is a deep, black world
of danger. And you my baby,
are a stranger.

oxygen
as the cord
wrapped tightly around her neck
like a python. She, a girl
was not pink. She came out
blue from the beginning.

She lost her
core
after her mother plucked
her petals
falling to the floor
swept up
with the dust
like a piece of furniture

She lost her
softness
after she was pounded
as a pillow
all the goose feathers
flying in the air
the stuffing knocked out
of her
like the Thanksgiving turkey
minus the gravy

She lost her
father
to schizophrenia
at age two
he to woman,
gambling
and *****

She lost her
stuffed rabbit
she had a habit
of leaving things
behind
like friends
and jobs
and memories

she blocked out
no shade of blackness
light only makes things grey

behind the Cheshire smile,
the starlit eyes
that he is vile.
The colorful guise
he cloaks himself in
doesn't ever wear thin.

No one sees him
as he is
without the cream
and fizz
without the round, plump cherry
sitting on the top
in his house of cards
soda shop.

No one sees him
as I
when he takes off
his face at night
throwing it in his bedroom bureau.
He'll die everyone's hero.

is the way they look at you, the way
they treat you. I’ve seen it when I
was throwing up my lungs and severely
dehydrated, near collapse and the nurse

turned her back on me and mistreated
me because she thought I was homeless
because I came to the E.R. without a shower
that morning. But she instantly changed

her tune when she saw my husband in
the waiting room. This has happened over
and again with family and former friends. If
I made millions like some other authors

I’d be given the royal carpet treatment. But
because I’m doing the same as those who
make more I’m given a much lower status
and have failed instead of prevailing in their

eyes Because I don’t yield the tenure
as those who hold a position, recognizably
so. Even the Fine lawyer wouldn’t jot down
writer when asked about my profession. He wrote

security guard in the space, even if it had been
years since I’ve done duty in flats and stiff
pants with a utility belt wrapped around my waist,
and on golden badge pinned on my breast pocket.

that I’m not so different
than them. Everything’s rosy
in the beginning. I’m going to
sit back and do nothing. I’m going
to watch how they treat you. You acted
like I was beneath you.

You’ll see
that those pretty madonna’s
wearing the high hats and
collars are ****** in their *******
and stocking –
and the way those ***** go about
talking. But I’m going to say
nothing. I’ll just enjoy the show!

has no color. It’s duller
than a lecture full of
statistics. And she doesn’t
have the logistics to pull it

off. Her eyes troughs
of stale rainwater infested
with mosquitos. Her nose,
a stuffed burrito, sliding in

the sauce, with two holes
that blow it off into the hot
air. Her egg-shaped head
strings a patch of honey

hair. Her lips are red rubber
bands that land above her
chin. And I, haven’t seen her
smile, since she last seen him.

as a child
holding the string
of a kite. Run with the wind,
as an albatross about to take
flight. Run as the river flowing into
the lake. Run and run, don’t put
on the brakes. Run as watercolors
in the rain, as the cheetah does in
the open plains. Run and don’t look
back. Be as a train and ride the
track. Run as a waterfall over
the mountain, in a clear crystal
fountain. Run as a baseball player
stealing base. If you’re tired –
don’t stop/run in place.

it’s because I’ve splintered
in the coldest of winters. Under
my bark after the layers ripped
off is a shark!

If I’m hard
it’s because I’ve fell as a stone
from a hundred floors and
shattered my bones. My jagged chips
are now sailing ships.

If I’m hard
it’s because I’ve had men walk
all over me. I’ve crumbled as crimson
leaves under elephant feet. My pieces
crushed. I fly in the wind over lakes, rivers
and mountains.

they don’t like drama
but a lot of them are liars. If that were
true the soap operas would all be
cancelled.

People say
they don’t care what others think. But if that
were true, they wouldn’t get so upset
about comments left on the internet.

People say
they don’t make comparisons. Who
the **** are they kidding!? We all compare
ourselves to everybody else. That’s why
there’s so much unhappiness.

People say
the damnedest things. I, myself
included. No, it’s not an excuse for
being rude. It’s just us folks are hard to
figure. We’re all fractured and splintered.

People say
things they don’t mean. You can’t take
everyone on their word. And people
mean things they don’t say –
Ya, don’t say? Hell, I’ve given up
trying to figure them out –

for today

of stone. As sand slips through
a clenched hand. With nothing
to grasp onto but a fist of lies,

whirling around horseflies, biting
tight bronzed thighs. The welts are
the size of dimes. You can't melt

stone casting a light on the face
of a rock.  A flock of gulls,
circling for crumbs scattered on

the shore. This wore the azure
down till the red drowned into
the brine. Lost over the horizon

as a herd of bison on the African
planes, after the November
rain.

into stone that she's thrown
into a lake. They skip and bounce
like an earthquake. They're so
cold they froze into icicles

on her face. She ties them up
in a bow like a shoelace. She shoots
daggers from her eyes, like lightning
bolts from the skies that take

a man by surprise. Once they
were a river that overflowed into
the land, the city streets like a brass
band. But after years of the flood

the flow had stopped like
clotted blood. She cannot shed
no more. They're all dried up like a
corpse's pore.

a bed to spread the cheese. I don’t like
being stacked with all the rest. I should be
served only to the best.  I break into pieces
when I’m tossed inside a cardboard

box. I’d be lox, a smoky orange-
pink fillet. Sweet, smooth, and shiny. Not
crummy. Cured and plated on Bone red China
for the grandest diner that savors the brine and

smiles as if I'm a satiny shiny fleet. Not just
a snack of wheat that sits as a Ritz served to campers
for a treat. Or placed in rows as dominos looking
like clones. That's not for me!

to fall
but slow to leave
just as sap on the tree
I bleed amber honey

I’m quick
to jump
but slow to think
just as a frog
in a blink
I make a splash

I’m quick
to carry
all this weight
but slow to empty
what’s on my plate

by sticking his hand
between his legs
or putting it behind
his head
it’s slowly degenerative
or sticking it
inside his pocket
the doctors are testing
or holding it
with the
the other one
or crossing his legs
so, one sits higher
to hide it behind
the pertinent tower
so, maybe she won’t see
or pay much heed
but she always does
it hits hard –
when it’s love

shaking the ground, pitching
his sound just like a tenor. He's making
me wheeze. My lungs are whistling
like a kettle. And of yet, they have

not settled. He's a disease. My liver,
foie gras, black as char, a smoking
cigar. A blocked artery. A growing
malignant tumor spreading around like

a high school rumor. An all-over body rash
with mountainous boils, popping
and making a splash. He’s head lice,
clawing my long golden hair. *******

the blood up there. Here's a fourth
degree burn peeling my skin back
at every turn. He's an anaphylactic shock -
like the hands of a broken clock. I stop.

Do what you’re here to do
Do it happy; make it new
Be the best that you can be
Don’t follow –
Lead

Do wish the best for others too
Even ones who desert you
Because –
Bitterness will cause you pain

Do Forgive –
And move on again

I ate it
wallowed in it
added water to make made mud pies
I planted in it
grew flowers colorful as butterflies
I carried it into my house
wore it on my buckled leather shoes
it stained my white lace dress
brown handprints on the walls
the halls looked a mess
it hardened on mother’s kitchen floor
in dark footprints she didn't ignore
she whipped me with the wooden spoon
locked me in my room till noon
stuck under my fingernails
in the tub left a ring
I dished it out with friends
gee, those girls can sling
the men it's on their minds
they roll in it as pigs
ha, they all are suited swines!
washed out in the laundry
read in girly magazines
kicked up in the baseball field
the visiting and home teams

The hurtee hurts the hurter worse
The shattered trust/the hurter terse
What's left of feelings burn
Nothing is as once before
No More
Except for
A skewed bridge
Thus remain
Despite the anguish and the pain
Two minds grill
Bodies sans frill
Come to extract
The Before and After
This is catharsis
This is healing
To walk a bridge
Where planks are missing
But insisting
Not to fall in
Not to fall over
But to find the footholds - together

has canine teeth
sharper than a stiletto
slashing you underneath
and doesn't let go

This Pain
has Teflon claws
that'll rip you apart
in seconds without pause

This Pain
an explosive karate kick
breaking you apart
like a stack of boards
with martial arts

This Pain
has thick dark ink
with quill in hand
you'll slide and sink

by having me pop in
when the pepper-mill was full,
and one more crinkly black round
wouldn’t have the top fitting sound. He tried

by sitting on the bottom,
when all the other pieces would
fall on top of him, and he’d be that much
closer to the grinder. He tried

by flaking off, snowing dark
and hot, emptying out and mixing
with my salt. But all I saw were bits and
pieces I abhorred.

in my head. I think of him
instead and a rush of heat comes
over me. I build up to a

great release. It’s like a wave rolling
to shore that takes away everything
that lays in its reach.

Without the head to paint it
the canvas is blank;
the beach is vacant.

leave smiles
no frowns
leave high
not down

leave lore
not guff
leave pith
no fluff

leave gifts
no scars
leave wings
not bars

leave cheer
not rue
happy memories
not blue