to love a poet
is to know immortality
for your name
will never cease
to flow from her lips

and she will forever hold
her pen gently
for her hands are scarred
with remnants of you

cut me open
and let all the
ink run
from these veins,
until my words
bleed dry,
and only
blank pages remain.

Do you realize
That while we're asleep
Bugs crawl in our ears
And whisper strange things
That's why we have
The strangest of dreams
With bugs in control
While we're asleep
As they try and direct
Our thoughts where we lay
To make us think
That all is okay
But not all is okay
If you know what I mean
As bugs crawl in our ears
And whisper strange things

Later at the same address
A storm of words reaches flood stage
A couch is bobbing in the currents
towards its mangled ruin-nexus
of matchsticks in cyclonic flow
among the renegade
trash
hanging
from the limbs like tinsel

Meanwhile
chair heaved through her door
Like the river
I am not above my rage
at this stage
of more than enough....
Clever daughter's got my goat
Turns my words on dimes
Lays into me
her score of blame
Each blow to drop me further

presses all my buttons at one time
despite the flashing
Warning! Warning!

“Fine! Fine!”

She blows-out through the afternoon
right past me
in a torrent of curses
A stubborn perfect storm
of words
has taken out parental dam
and blown out toward the Bay of Freedom
to the sorrows of her day

The river may crack its whip
But its got nothing on her

nothing is left standing
in her way

A string of obscene things
came slip sliding
out of
the greasy hole
where you shove
all that sugary
junk stuff.

Crusty cursing,
crunchy coronary,
contrarian
causing you to
spit chunks of crap
back at me.

You spew your pathetic
prejudices at me,
spilling a stream of consciousness
racist river
right down my throat.

Your blood pressure
rises with every syllable.
Until, your constricted
blood vessels cause
your clogged
and shrunken heart
to stop.