are clenched in fists of rage
no one here acts their age
their lips are sewn, leather strapped
days are strung, and she is tapped

all that changes are the seasons
everyone talks but no one reasons
repeat/repeat/repeat/repeat
they don't move their **** or get off their seat

she who stands up stands alone
they've different names but all are clone
is she vain to think she'll make a difference?
the audience watches with indifference

time is a soldier marching on
steady heads and much less brawn
dressing in pen and not stiletto
is liberation from this ghetto

He's inutile
as a baby toe.

No point of recovering
an appendage that's a runt.

If he were cake, he'd make a Baby Bundt
with a gaping hole in his center.

Should've left
soon as I entered.

in leather tattered shoes
weathered smiles cloaked in *****
taped this mouth shut just for men
a floating wonton in soup for them
tried to fit into their circle
tried as white, but painted purple
grew flat standing in the crowd
felt as **** dropped and plowed
surrounded by ***** hands of many
headless scanty red little penny
the only way for the woman to shine
is to step out of this dotted line

as a bird is an Andean Condor
as for years, they've all be squandered

as a string, a dozen blue tassels
as my home, a large empty castle

My pain
measured be a light year
if talked out it'd fall on deaf ears

My pain
in running shoes couldn't walk a step
if I hand it two arms it'd grow bulging biceps
my grief is a wreath hung on my door
a thief that robs me of more

as red and golden
leaves in fall. I'd swirl and hover
in the air as a hummingbird. And then
I'd drift. But I couldn't get back my lift.

I'd fall
as raindrops on the window,
streaking the glass with every pass
in beaded pearls as a girl. But now I
swallow the pain, holding in the rain.

I'd fall
and scrape my knee. Lost my footing
on used to be's. No mommy kisses for boo
boos. Only blood on my new shoes. But I'd rise
as early morn just to fall back on a rosebush of thorns.

I'd fall
for the lines of men
over and again. All my foes looked
like friends. Now I write lines with pen,
sending them off with smile and quaff!

on like a train going from
one destination to another.  Like
***** swimming past all the others.

I couldn't move
like a tree held firmly
by the roots. After you, were no
substitutes.

I couldn't move
like a deer frozen in the headlights
on a dark road in the middle of winter. Couldn't
move - all my pieces were splintered.

I couldn't move
like sinking in quicksand, up to
my neck, burying my hands.

Once I moved
like ice in a blender, caught in
the blades and chopped up -
sold to the vendor.

on my golden ring sun.
The run on my no-intend pun.
He was the pin in the powdered keg.
My twin, my left leg.

He was my broken wing.
The woken man in a G-string.
A six-pack without the head.
An eight-track that's long dead.

He was the crack in the mirror.
The smack, so I couldn't see clearer.
He was a song without the chorus,
a **** that hit my *******.

I was a puppy in his hand.
He was the guppy
that landed in sand.

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

stairs two or three steps
at a time. His pants are baggy
hanging off him. He's lanky
and his nails aren't trim. His hair

is greasy and unkempt. Doesn't hold
conversation, but makes attempts. He
doesn't have a diploma. He once lied,
eyes rolled back in a coma. Doesn't

wash himself or hold a job. Some
see him as a slob. But I see him through
a mother's eyes, through his hugs/not his guise.
I see his smile light up the room. I loved him
as he grew in my womb. That love

crosses boundaries and time. That love
doesn't die. That love lies up at night walking
hospital floors, going to meetings, lawyers
and school boards. That love climbs summits

through rain and shine.  That love is savage
as a mountain lion. But gentle as a baby
lamb. Pushing for his health from pushing a
pram. Not every parent can grow a man that
climbs two or three steps at a time.

Dedicated to my handicapped son Alex

you won't know
me when I'm a memory,
a hot gust of air, that you can't see,
won't catch your tears. Some day

you'll call and not hear
my voice. Then you'll know
you made a choice. Some day
you'll play back all the things

you said inside your head. As the pain
bears an ugly stain of years wrapped up
in cellophane. Some day you'll stew
over how the days flew when you're old

and grey with less to do. But you can't
say a thing to me now, when I'm floating
high above the clouds.

stretch marks and baggy skin
than a washboard stomach
I created life -
I radiate within

I'd rather
wrinkles than Botox injections
I lived a full life
with home and family
I'm not looking for perfection

I'd rather
spend the day flying a kite
than mopping the floors
polishing the furniture
till everything's bright

I'd rather
listen to the robins and wrens rejoice
the squirrels scurrying over an acorn
than standing, staring in the mirror
hearing my voice
again, and again complaining

a shiny black sports car
the million-dollar condo in the city
five-star restaurants and candlelit bars
the banter of one so witty

a doctorate in gold leaf
the high six-digit income
a six-pack of hunky beef
the vacation of sand, coral and reef

gem-stone necklaces wrapped in bows
drunken eyes and ripped off clothes
smiles that last only the night
thrown out before the morning light

Cussing and slamming doors
begging on all fours
hands clenched in tight fists
speedy exits
pushing and shoving
So, this is loving?

the glossy paint chips
the clay bowl cracks
the stain of red satin lips
white turns blue and black
a leaky faucet drips
no turning back

Sooner or later
the veneer fades
gold turns to rust
the little robin strayed
knocked down by a gust
this diamond is a *****

Sonner or later
a smiling sun disappears
smoky clouds roll in
she squandered youthful years
in things that might have been

He's the sauce.
Covers all his lumps in gloss.
He's the tinsel gold and red,
patching all the holes with thread.

He's the floral wrapping
tied with a satin bow.
But his packaging
is all for show.

He's the shiny skating rink.
But as you dance it cracks.
You sink!

in adding to this shape
some thick as cornfields
some buttery thin as crepes
every man puts something in
some a wispy feather
some a dorsal fin

Every man has his day
at planting seeds
some with water and sunshine
some with rake and weeds
some men leave footprints
some just weave
some men stay
but too many of them leave

so, I can walk to the other side
without turning around
to the old sound of the calls
and cries. I burnt it down to the

ground so I'd grow wings to fly beyond
the years that strung my tears with plated
gold and lies. I burned it slowly over *****
and lime. Some days I'd patch it

with memories that didn't rhyme. Then I'd
gussy it up with smiles and mush till it
stuck me like a porcupine. I'd carry
a water bottle with the pain. Drink from it,

then refill with rain. Some days I'd run
toward the flame like a high-speed train,
burning myself again and again.
My pen my wand/my cry my song
in ashes of auld lang syne in every page and line.

My mouth is dry. My smile slides
off as rain on the trough.  My tongue's
wrung as a sponge. My cheeks

are hollow. I've swallowed heaps of
loss. I'm about to toss my cookies. Men
only look at the rookies. My cherry-bomb

lips have slipped up a on ***** and rhyme,
on when and lime. Still, I bait my pen with
who and how. And what and where

hang in the air as a stormy cloud. I prep them
with lemon and thyme, sage and line. But the years
haven't shone on me, not even grown on me.
They’re all a broken bough.

I'm Eeyore. A dark cloud's
hanging over me, raining wine and
poetry. I won't leave the house. The sun
doesn't rouse me. I can't even leave

my bedroom. I'm so drowsy. Every day
is the same, lousy. Pulling the blankets
over my head, sinking in as a hibernating
bear. I'd like this year to disappear. It's a task

to brush my teeth, wash my face,
and join the human race. Men tell me to snap
out of it. Look at the bright side of things!
Count your blessings! But I'm a slug. And this

world is a treadmill looping around
and moving the ground under my feet. Colorful
collage of mixed messages scrambled together
that I can't encode. Slipping through my hands
like a muddy toad.

and swallows you.
The sky grows black
and hollows you.
Your heart pounds out of your chest.
You're squeezed in tight, compact and pressed.
The sweat rolls off your forehead.
You shouldn't have left your blankets and bed.
Your pulse is quick/your feet are bricks.
Your face pale/you can’t exhale.
You're in a tizzy/so, so dizzy.
Death, a headless horseman is riding your back.
No! No! No! It's a Panic Attack.

the glittering peach eyeshadow
there appears a girl
every day that's overshadowed

the cherry bomb lipstick smile
there appears a girl
holding in a lot of bile.

Look Beyond
the feathered pink sweater
there appears a girl
weathered from her debtors

Look beyond
the silk stockings clinging to her legs
there appears a girl
that's walked on many eggs

Look beyond
the studded red stilettos
there appears a girl
that grew up in the ghetto

sticking out
biting as winter
bright as diamonds
sharp as swords.

Filing my tongue
on my emery board.
A broken piece of glass
reflective, diaphanous

prickly as a cactus,
thrown in with a clump of daffiness.

lying on the side of
the dirt road, carrying pen
and ode.  Cars go breakneck
past, accelerating the gas. Vultures

circling in grey sky. Swarming flies
hovering nearby.  Racoons picking off
the bones. Maggots swimming in the ear
canals. As in life, still with me

now. Skin ripped off like wrapping
paper. All that's left is clouds of vapor. And
the smell of decaying flesh whirls in
cyclones of veins in mesh. As cars go breakneck past,
accelerating the gas.

wearing flowing capes
flying in the air
they're nicer guys out of shape
sitting in a chair

Beware of sweet tongues
letters after names
the pounding of rolling drums
gilded paper in wooden frames

Beware of whispers
blowing in the dark
I like mine crisper
without a combustive spark

growling in my stomach
larger than a lion
that ties in everything I do

brighter than a flame burning
turning light onto the shadows
flinging pens as if they're arrows

on the marks of men
that left footprints on my hide
the stain has spread and dried

a song I’ll sing till I die
and none can silence me
I’m a worker bee

you peered out from the sides
wouldn't throw me a twine.
I called out in gravel and in thunder.

You plundered every line
disguised in cherry wine.
And I turpentine, oily and bovine

swallowed the sand in the glass
filling up my nose on the pass
cutting my eyes on the toss.

Over my head
drowning in the sauce.
On the bottom

I'm a clump
not more than a stump
with feet.

glued to this the chair.
My legs rubber.
My feet cement shoes.
My bottom of blubber
is taking a sweet snooze.

My eyes weren't closed.
So, I could see the door.
If I rose, I could crawl
across this floor.

But my lift-off
wouldn't take off.
And my arms hung
as sausage links.
I swung them to and fro
like a ** that's drank
too many drinks.

If I grew a pair of wings
I'd fly off this chair
and do things.
Not stare at the walls
waiting for what tomorrow brings.

in the air.
A cloud of smoke
sitting as a bloke
in a wingback chair.

Hear me
in a breeze.
Waving branches
large as ranches
whipping through the trees.

Touch me
in the rain.
Bubbling drops
of brewing hops
dripping through the pain.

Taste me
in the snow.
Powdered sugar
in a pressure cooker
puff as pastry dough.

Smell me
in the sun.
A rose garden
if you pardon
refreshes everyone.

as vanilla ice cream on apple pie
running off to the sides
in a puddle of sweet lies
on a paper plate of goodbyes

They slid off
walking on crystal ice
thrown as rolling dice
till she fell in
engulfed over her head
in the icy swim

She has her lips to sip
and her teeth to eat
a nose, and a mountain
standing between
two crimson cheeks

But she can't see
where she's going
or where she is.
She only clings to
where she's been.

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.

when the leaves all fallen
in autumn
when she hit the bottom of a bottle
sunk like dottle in the old man's pipe
he couldn't wipe the pain
of the man that left the stain

He came
on the coldest day
when ice crystals of glass ****
danced in the air
on every garbled breath

He came
with smiles and blooms
on shirtless afternoons
swinging like crochet hammocks
melting like rocky road ice-cream
till they puddled in the grass
shunts in a bypass

wet and alone
wrinkled and soft
tossed from man to man
in their hands she squealed
chubby as a beach whale

She started out
drooling and sputtering
cooing and babbling "bababa"
in a mouth with no teeth
and a double chin underneath

She started out
on all fours
crawling on the floor
wobbling and falling
she never stopped falling

She started out
begging to fit in
looking like a boy
with chopped hair
in brown corduroys

She started out
with a maidenhead
and every month
it'd bled bright red

She started out
out with papers and books
jeers and scoffing looks
bitten down nails
in messy pigtails

She started out
in lace
a veil to hide her face
two kids
a cat
a car
and then an empty jar

She started out
with beer on pizza night
then turned to wine
red or white
now she turns on her soap operas
downing three or four vodkas

She started out flirting
and on paper blurting
about her escapades
and a writer's sunken wage

She ends up as she starts
wet and alone
wrinkled and soft

of him? His eyes chestnut
but the shine dulled. His embrace
glacial and his talk culled. Has he
another name? He came to me

then as I called him. But now
I holler and his head won't turn. I haven't
shrunk. But I swear I'm smaller standing
next to him. The air between us

doesn't circulate. And his limbs
swing like pendulums and are
just dead weights. The smile slides off
his face. His neck doesn't hold

his head in place. Bobbing like a red buoy
in the water. His chin drowns under his
starched white collar. But his house still sits
on the hill.  And the grass is still green -
and the sky still blue.

Much. You got tangled
in the lines. Like a marionette
you flopped without the taut
pull of the strings. You were not

without men standing
over you. Moving their hands, walking
you across a stage. Couldn’t see
their faces, only the strings. And strings

don’t smile. They tie you up,
into a pig pile. The curtain closes. And
the clean-up crew sweeps up the heap
that is now you. Stuffs you in boxes, like

ornaments on the tree. Stores you
in the attic in the heat and the cold. Voices
are muffled and darkness enfolds, inside
a cardboard coffin that now is home.

is fitting you?
The shiny metal kind
like a boxer wears after a match-
his eyes glass flares

or the night sky against the sea
like a street stalker's ****** spree

or the stringy hair on her head
in a wooden box-
her last bed

or this land in dust
after the nuke
all is rust
earth cloaked in puke

can't walk
without a sole for a cushion.
Can you be my footing?

An arm
can't grasp a blade
of grass without fingers.
It's only a swinging appendage
that lingers and bends.
Can you lend a hand, my friend?

A face
has no place to turn
without a neck.
I see my head roll
off my shoulders
like a boulder.
Can you put me back together?

raining from the sky
no two of us alike
crystals dancing in the night
perfect as we are
bright as the Sirius star
diamond dust
cloaking bridges
towers and mountains
eyelashes, noses, lips
building nests in hair in strips
powder babies amalgamating
over ponds skating
billowing and swirling
boys and girls hurling
compacted spheres flying
through the air
and lying feathery down
on the satin ground

a seed
a sprout
a sapling
an Oak tree grappling

Not just
a *****
an egg
an embryo
but a whole baby
that grows!

Not just
a kiss
a date
a friend
a wife till the end

Not just
a brick
a roof
a house
a home for child & spouse

Not just
a page
a chapter
a book
a Pulitzer Prize
that takes off and flies

Not just
a put-down
a bully
a spar
an ever-lasting scar

Not just
a day
a month
a year
We're building memories
aren't we dear?

smiling with porcelain
teeth. Fluttering lashes and
dancing eyes. Making ladies

wiggle with butterflies. Skipping from
gal to gal leaving a trial of buzzing
curls, whirling his coattails. Taking off

he flies. The days of not are nigh and
growing pitch as night. The women
with stitches in their sides now all

crashing from the ride. The price of
the high is to land with open eyes.
Stand with untethered ties.

in tight pant pockets. The petals
bleeding out their color. Not lying flat
as a silver dollar.  Not as a dog
wearing a collar. Blanket the sky

no sun and no water. Penned
as a pig for the next slaughter. The bloom
cut off in mid-afternoon. Willows weeping
sweeping the air. To not see

again, this crimson friend with perfumed
hair is a lot to bear. A headless standing stem
doesn't gander attention. Not as a headless
horseman galloping through a graveyard

under the pitch-black night, with only
the light of twinkling stars. They don’t last
sealed in tight jars. In the wrong hands,  
a rose only mars.

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

that'll not fly quietly
into a black crow night
not an old screech owl
a coyote that howls

under the dancing moonlight
broad as a mountain
not a leaky fountain
that drizzles in spits
turns and twists

a wrecking ball
that destroys all
standing in her way
she'll not lie down

she's sky
not the ground
finding and cracking
men's feet of clay

has fallen
high from the tree
rolling on the ground
unhinging from the branch

in a spiraling dance
with bruises underneath
the shiny red skin

if you poke with a finger
you can push it right in
this skin turns to *****
hanging by a thread

in a soft brown-like mash
no man will take
fallen as it is

so, it lies in the shadows
of the apples that clung
food for the mother rat
and her young

gnawing on the flesh
chewing it like gum
ants blanket the little left
not a sign of it now

as apples die fast
they never die loud

the word
like the wings of a bird
and it'll take flight
spreading it like
a quilt on the bed
on a cold grey night

I'm spreading
the seed
all over this land
performing the deed
with woman hands

I'm spreading
this memoir
near and by far
making it stick
like strawberry jam
to the sides of the jar

I'm spreading
my pelvis
birthing this babe
pushing it out
with gusto and sage

footprints on my breast
walking all over my chest
with his wall-to-wall grin. His heart
is made of tin.

His left
whispers inside my head
banging against my bed
making me flip-flop all night. His eyes
are closed tight.

He left
me drowning in a puddle
after floating in a bubble -
that burst.

I left
in a hearse.

bright he lights the night
as a forest fire -
every tree ignites
smoky haze clogs the air
in a daze, she hogs the err

When he burns
low he's heavy
as a buffalo
and the pain of no
shadows her till the stars
grow dim
to numb the pain
she'd cut off her limbs

for truth to turn into
lies. To make naked
the guise. The whole world
pushed to the side. And just a second

for a mistake to break him,
shattering the tinted glass. Fragments,
lasting. Casting light on
the brokenness, stripping him

of all that he is. And in a second,
a man's life -
snuffed out like a fire,
falling off the wire.

howling through the trees
running from a breeze
only it chases him faster
she's a natural disaster

kicking up dust
the earth, the core the crust
a break in the line
is how you feast/you dine

trampled by a smiling squall
laid flat on southern drawl
poking head into the funnel
cooked inside a short damp tunnel

looking into the glass
back at me?
Who am I
passing by her?
For all, I’d say
she is a liar.

Who is she
to him?
Just a painted stand-up doll
to fall head-on into his lap
and grin.

Who is she
to all
who see her?
that read her?
Just a whirr
a blur
of tangled snarls
in red lipstick
and crayon brows.

Who is she
to all who left?
A Gust
A Gale
that made them
lose their breath.

The white turns black
into an alley cat,
with claws pointing and spreading
waiting to attack.

There is no green.
The yellow turns blue
into a discarded worn shoe,
the hobos wear
prancing the streets
selling their wares.

There is no purple.
The red and blue
run in circles.
The red ahead.
The blue behind.
Not the two shall
walk the line.

There is no pink
The red bleeds through,
staining the white
a crimson hue.

the plains flood
soggy as bogs
thick as fog
I sink into a hole
in the ground
like a bowl I'm round

as I walk
white as chalk
the sun balks at drawing me a light
and like quicksand
I'm swallowed by the night

till I’m nil
all is still
and doesn’t move
no stars or moon

after the rain
the pains flood