in him. He'll turn as
the weather. And shrink you
down as a wool sweater in
the wash. Toss you out as

as he flies off, flapping his wings,
like an albatross. Stormy as the sea. Scabby
as a dog full of fleas. He's a snake
crawling on his belly. Fake as

a pseudonym. Nugatory as
a broken limb. With shards in
the chardonnay he'll grind you
as a French pate'. Spreading himself

thinner than the air around
an airplane. Nosediving you till all
****** fluids are drained. Leaving a stain
on the carpet. All along, you were his target!

of hailstones throwing
torches
cracking holes
in these back porches.
Dancing crimson
in a prison
of ice.
Shaking tales
as barnyard mice.

The sky is weeping
nectarines.
I stand behind
The back porch screen.
Wind whipping them all
like pinballs in a penny arcade
as I'm sipping lemonade.

Talking heads
these jack-o-lanterns
as I sit behind the curtain.
I carved the faces out myself,
hiding the knife in a book
up on the shelf.

Another night
of fitful sleep and the pain
of butchered sheep.
I'm on the lam.
And cooked just like
the holiday ham.

as the dandelion
lying in the sun
the flowered golden head
run over by the mower
****** in the spin
the blade set to lower

Regrow
as the worm
cut into threes
regenerate a new body

Regrow
as the hair
on your head
falling on the floor
or from the dog
that shed
this loss you can restore

Regrow
as the leaves
breaking from the trees
fly in the breeze
over mountains and seas
rise in full bloom
big as the moon!

in shade. I laid
in sun till it scorched
me. Blisters grew
like fat plums on the tree.

I live
in shadow. I'd glow
in red light. Till the brightness
made me blind. And the light
burned my behind.

I live
in stillness. This illness
is from too many days
dancing in the sun.

I live
in stone. I'm a mountain
that stands alone. I've my books
and poetry. Men don't
notice me.

as the leaves in autumn
from green to crimson
from smiling cornflower sky to
a snow-crusted bottom

of lies. The bloom
off the rose. Is it something
that happened or
something you chose? The oak,

my canopy cut down
to a stump jutting out of
the ground. I look up and see
where the ropes tied to the branch

holding the tire swing, in April
the beginning of spring. You pushed
a girl in a sunflower dress
as the church bells rang and

the robin sang. You pushed
her, with hands on her back, her wavy
hair fly in the air, and the clack of
the hens crocheting in chairs. The lilacs,

dripping sweet till the moon
hung like a cheeseball with teeth. All this
in the spot where a stump sits
and the roots rot as the sky spits.

from top
to bottom. After autumn
the colors bleed. And the red
and gold leave. Jutting out

are gnarly pointed
twigs, like ma's hair
sans her wigs. They scratch
and tangle themselves

into a sculpture
looking like some helter-
skelter. No shelter in this
mass. No flower blooms

in dead grass. So, cut it
down. It's lost its spring. No bird
to build her nest. No Robin
to grow her wing.

sweeping her arms
across the water
nature's daughter
sleeping in the mid-day sun
little ripples tickles finger leaves
that skim the water in a breeze

green umbrella cloaking
every gal and fella
sitting under her
a canopy of love
the cooing of two doves
dancing in the branches above

now a feather sailing as a ship
from the swan
lying on the lawn
after a morning swim
near the rim of the pond

the sky cornflower blue
and the iris's sweet dew
rolls off

I'm a dwarf
in a mountainous world
a pill bug curled
passing through
milking the view

like Velcro
two strips of plastic sheets
with loops and hooks for teeth
hanging on the wall

He's stuck
as a gold ring
on a swollen finger
the fat wraps around the metal
like spackle in the cracks
so hard I'd need an ax

He's stuck
like a needle
on a phonograph
running over the same track

He's stuck
like Pooh's head
in the honey ***
drowning in that sweet spot

blood petals, pouring on
the table. A crimson blanket
settles as snow on the cables. Outside
the picture window a cardinal

flies as the rose
drops her head like a sleepy
child. The thorns pointing out
like fangs in a viper’s mouth. I remember

September when this rose was
full bloom. And every man smelled
sweet perfume. But didn’t he
have to pluck her. After he ****** her,

flung her like feed for the cattle
into a trough. His garden
in rows of stems, with their heads
cut off.

in rows like cornfields.
Every direction I go
there's more to follow.
I cannot swallow
them whole.

His lies lie
uneven like my lawn
from dusk till dawn.
I’m not drawn to them.

His lies lie
down like a gambler’s
money on the table.
I'm not able to pick up.

His lies lie
on his head
like a cap -
flat.
He spat them out
of his mouth
like a downspout
running into the gutter.
I don't listen to him mutter.

in the afternoon
as sunflowers grow
full bloom. The rose wine
smells like sweet perfume. I string

my head on a cloud. But tie
it down to the ground. So, it doesn't
wander into the neighbor's yard
like a condor flying circles in

the air. And I slump in my plastic  
chair, as the golden sun sinks like
a stone in water. And how I hated
to be her daughter! I pen the lines

that bind me to her in pages
that can be fewer if I abridge. But
the ridge I climbed has no footholds
for my lines. So, I inked them in turpentine.

have teeth
that bite into lies
and mice them up
into mince-meat pies.

These scars
have warts
rough as nails
that hang on all
small details.

These scars
have fists
that knock down walls
punch holes in fences
and crawls through stalls.

These scars
have legs
that run over
the dregs of life
hungover.

in white, red, tan, gold
and black. He wears them dusk
till dawn. As he takes one off he
puts another on. Some are

wool. Some are cotton. Some linen,
some leather. Some with earflaps for
cold weather. Some have bands and
some feathers. For every day

its polyester. He's a cowboy,
and a soldier. He's a sailor and
a jester. He’s a baseball player
and cop. He wears a cap with his high-

top. A Fedora, Tam-O’-Shanter, Porkpie
or a Boonie.The grey felt makes him look
like George Clooney. In the evening, a
Night Cap. He changes hats in a snap.

with kindness. Sang
me a song. Flowered me
in rose petals and smiles
with shoulders mountains

strong.  Skipping hours,
like stones, day after day. My umbrella,
when showers turned this blue sky
to grey. Spoon fed me honey

dripping from his tongue. Painted
me green. Made me feel young, like
a babe swaddled and swung in
a cradle ladled in hugs. So high on

a pedestal, wearing white gloves. I clung
to him like a tight sweater. Clung so tight
I lost all my feathers. I couldn't fly. He killed
with kindness. And dropped from the sky.

the scales on his back
were part of his leather jacket.
His short legs ran in family.
His mother and father
were not gangly.
And even if he left me gutted,
I hadn't a thought
that he was cold-blooded.

is so hot
it fries eggs
on the sidewalk

His lips
so sweet
he curls them up
and shows his pearly teeth

His tongue
is a red carpet
rolling out as
as a chocolate barbet

There's a line
running up
from his lips
to his eyes
like a live wire
the sparks fly

He has me
in that smile
I guess I’ll stay
a while

to fall. My face is
on the ground covered in
dirt. Worms as my floss. It hurts
to stand up. I’m at a loss.

I have nowhere
to go. Not a thing to
do. Every day is the same. The only
thing that I change are my clothes
and my shoes.

I have nowhere
to turn. Everyone's left
me. I'm ashes in an urn,
sitting on the shelf all to myself.

I have nowhere
to reach. My arms are
cut off. Flat on my belly;
I'm a sucker like a leech.

I have nowhere
to run or no man
to run from. Nowhere is
a place that I've outrun.

where a garden shouldn't
bloom. Taking root in his bed-
room. His lips sprouting
fangs. His viper hanging in

the grass.  The man has
a heart of glass. He shook her
like a ***** collins. Rocked her
till her teeth fallen. And as

her belly swell
he told her sharply not to
tell. She watered this dandelion,
called him Brian. But as winter

cold snuck in the air
her hold on him did not fare. So,
this show like autumn leaves
blew out of town in one fell sneeze.

of my innocence.
Robbed me of my youth.
I can't unsee all I saw.
It’s planted in me/I'm the flaw.
Can't erase all I heard.
You can't make fly a dead bird.
Can't wipe clean all this,
with just a hug and a kiss.
Can't reshape the mold I grew in.
I can't glue back pieces broken.
Some were lost to men just joking.
I can't go back.
Can't move up.
I'm stuck.

I take when I leave
home. Pithy and sharp,
plucking the strings
as a harp. It has a golden

case, polished
and engraved. I lay it
down on wood from trees
in the neighborhood. It dances

pirouettes smoking
cigarettes. Lighting up
as a firefly every man's lie. It's the
torch everyone can see

from my back porch,
periodically. It fills my nights
with song. And strings
the days along.

off his back. Pull
the buttons from his shirt and
the snaps. Break all the teeth
in his zipper, till he's naked

as a stripper. Hang him by his
pant legs upside-down. Fry him
like an egg/paint him as a clown. Take
off his shoes and string them on

a wire. Gag him with his socks,
expose this rotten liar. Use his ****
strap as a sling. Place his oversized head

in and fling it in the fire. Roll him out
onto the city streets just like a tire. Stand
back to view the show. See the horror
and the shock of the many men he knows.

as a full moon
at night
dandelions growing in
my garden upright
the clouds sprinkling showers
a day with twenty-four hours

He's part of me
as wings on a butterfly
the golden sun filling the sky
apples swimming in ma's apple-pie
the tea leaves, camellia and mint
the steaming water in the kettle
a tint of amber pouring from the metal

He's part of me
this crusty scab covering my wound
the wound itself
settling dust on my bookshelf
the thorns on a rose
this juxtapose

if it slid into him full throttle
as a baseball player sliding into
home-plate, kicking up the dirt into
his face. A mound of smoke rising

from the ground, the cheer of the
crowd. He wouldn't know love if it slapped
him silly. If it knocked out his two front teeth
nilly-*****. If he bled from the mouth

with a swollen lip. All he knows is
that he couldn't kiss. He wouldn't know
if it ran him over like a land Rover, leaving
tracks on his chest, scars up and down

from his hip to his breast. Cutting off
his legs and mangling his arms. He wouldn't
know love if it dropped him out of a plane, and
he hit the ocean like a freight-train!

a sailing ship to a harbor.
But you harbored rancor
toward me. So, I rode out
a stormy sea.

I turned to you
a broken limb to a cast.
But you cast me to the side. So, I didn't
heal. I just backslide.

I turned to you
a stray homeless waif.
But you lead me astray.
I'm not safe.

I turned to you
an orange moth, circling the flame.
Both of us inflamed
with passion, crashing head on
burning in a song.

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.

I'll still bite them hard.
They can put up fences.
And I'll still cross their yard.
They can knock me

down.
But I'll stand up.
They can refuse to serve me.
I'll still fill my cup.

They can throw stones.
I'll still swim.
They can shut the lights off.
So, I'll read in the dim.

They can lock doors.
I can open with a bobby pin.
They can cheat at every turn.
But just the same, I'll still win.

They can build mountains.
And I can climb.
They can rip out my pages.
But I'll still rhyme.

mirror, growing smaller
than a beetle and so
clearer. When he was larger
than life he was fuzzy as

a high-winded kite. I,
tethered to his string,
held onto the whole tangled,
twisted thing. Pulling

it with me as it cut
into my hand. Bleeding
a bright strawberry jam,
attracting hornets, and

dancing in
the buzz. Does it
make me slow down?
Does it not turn me around?

like an unhatched egg
pushed out of the nest
to make room for the rest
of the birds
the ones that can't fly
die

like the little runt
that can't catch up
with the rest of the bunch
so he is lost
chasing his tail
in the snow and the frost

like a lover
thrown out the door
for the body of another
with more ******* to explore

like the chubby girl in school
sitting quietly and following the rules
wearing glasses and braces
with greasy hair and acne
tripping over her shoelaces

at my home. Flung out of his rancid
tongue. One by one they stuck together
just like tar to feather. So, I build a wall  
with his pejoratives that grew like

fast-acting viruses. Up to my neck,
he still flung them. Couldn’t let him
deck me. Like a woodpecker pecking me,
till I'm covered in holes. But now

my house is behind a wall of stone,
tall as me. Blocks all out, doesn't let me
see. Is it he still standing
behind the stones? Or at the locker

of Davy Jones? All is quiet now 'cept the hoot
of the old screech owl, the honking overhead
from flying fowl. And the ripple from the lake
is just the swimming of a drake.

that sharpened them.  Every
time they rubbed against my grit
their silver blade cut just a bit. The cool
in me turned them to steel. I built

a tower I cannot feel. They shred
the lines so thin into turpentine
and gin. I laid colorful as chalk
as they carved upon an empty

block. How many times can I
sharpen them till they inched their
way up my hem. On a  blooming spree
they stung me, like the honey bee. Now

my eyes are sandpaper, and my stare
a skyscraper. No longer cool, but
burning brush from scraping metal,
and steaming like a hot tea kettle.

as a switch
of a light pointed
down. But I can sprint
off as a greyhound tracking

the scent of a rabbit or
a racing horse
at the post after lifting
the fence. I'm off course
and off my rocker. But don't you

knock me off my blocker! I'm off
duty. Some say I'm off,
that I'm just fruity! I run off
at the mouth. And men don't like

my offhand comments. They often
say it makes them *****. I’m off
center, and off the mark.  And if
it suits me I'll blow you off!

into pieces with jagged sides
like bolts of lightning till every piece
flies through every closed window,
every raised flue. Going to shoot the moon

till it breaks like a plate. Drop all the bone
china into the night like snowflakes till
it cuts their hands, their faces, their eyes. Till
they swallow the shards like a huge pizza-

pie. I'm going to bounce the sun like
a basketball. Let the bombs fall over trees,
homes and stalls. And every cloud covers
this earth like a red linen shroud. I've spoken

with thunder. Took every man's face
and pasted their blunders. Drove every
stone into hail till it’s rubbed into their
fingertips and they read it like braille.

as a buoy.
Every wave that passes
fogs up his glasses.
Arms flapping

as a bird. Everything
he says is slurred.
Legs swinging back and
forth, all the way from south

till toes pointed north.
Fingers strumming
his armchair. And that stare
hanging in the air

like smoke
from a cigar inside
a tight lid jar. I remember
September, I lost him
in a tremor.

a fledgling
dawning as the sun
selling everyone
with my melodic song

puffing out my red breast
flapping my feathered wings
trying to impress
the bonny spring

trying to soar
like the osprey
lift off this grassy floor
with no man

to teach me
so, I'm robbing
like a bee
out of amber honey

and bobbin to the beat
of car horns
in the ***** city street
a baby bird is born

in the wind, an orange leaf
caught in the swirling breeze,
ejected from the trees like a snot
from a sneeze. She hung

in the air, dancing soap
bubbles before they pop and
disappear. She blended
her colors, the white

with the reds and stood
out, a pink carantion
with pointed petals that
spread. She rolled off

a morning dewdrop,
****** up by the razor
sharp tongue of a mother
squirrel and her naked young.

the rat-a-tat-tat
branch against the glass
outside the window
the wind blows
the clawing and scraping
the knocking
his mouth gaping
clocking the lighted numbers
beside his bed
the pulsing and thunder
inside his head
sweat running along his brow
belly churning like a mama cow
heart pounding like a hammer
the sounding and clamor of her calls
night precipitously falls like a guillotine
it throws and turns him as a washing machine
outside the rat-a-tat-tat
like nails on the chalkboard
she's the scratch

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.

this doctor, this surgeon
and left me on the table
to wipe the sweat from
his brow. He wasn't able to

remove the tumor now. He jumped
at the size. Rumor is his body
paralyzed. His legs Jello, far from
the mellow man walking in dockers,

sporting a tan. His hands trembling
as the ground in an earthquake,
far from the bloke kayaking
on Swan Lake. And I bled out red,

a trout prepped for the meal,
with a sprig of thyme and
a slice of lemon in her mouth
left on a table of steel.

like him to suffer,
ride a colliding train
without a buffer.
I'd like him to roast

as a pig
over a firepit,
revolving til charred,
pierced with a spit. I'd like

his bed as a wooden rack. And
his limbs pulled tight with
a rope till they detach. Whip
his back like whites of

an egg till he screams
and he begs. Pull his eyes
out of the sockets. Dump scorpions
in both his shirt pockets. And even so

after all of this
it doesn’t come close
to all that he did.

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.

just a face
of crimson cheeks
and painted lips
that seldom speak
wearing thick spider lashes
that flashes a smile?
And when it's washed off
it hangs on cloth
the painted guile.

Am I
just a body
of bouncing *******
pressed in a tight sweater
with legs dressed in black leather
wearing red stilettos
like white trash from the ghetto?

Am I
just a child
underneath my clothes
that strikes a pose for men
and weeps with paper and pen
in lines I rhyme and send?

on paper like a painter
with his brush. He crushed out
the lines till they were fine chestnut
powder that he sprinkled on me
like chocolate shavings on whipped cream.

He talked
on air like a dewdrop
on a blade of grass. It just rolled
off his lips in drips that pooled
in puddle on the floor. And he slipped
on it heading out the door.

He talked
over me like a breeze blowing
a **** on a weathervane. I swirled
in colored circles on the plane. And he
dipped like a chip in the salsa, as I floated
on it like a piece of balsa.

He talked
on and on like a recorder
as I flung like a fugitive over
the border to a quiet land to hear
the butterflies. And I skipped in fields
of dandelions.

wet and newly hatched
after scratching to break out of the blue-
green shell can't go back once it's cracked
into the walls she felt safe and well. Pushed out

of the twigs and grass of nest
before her little wings can fly. We're all
born to die. This world is big and scary with
creatures sharp and hairy waiting to gobble her

skin, bones and all. And spit her out
in pellets like overzealous zealots. She can't
crawl back inside the shell. It fell from
the tree and broke into pieces. Just like feces

it stinks in the air and light. And beady-eyed
clawed feet roam the grounds at night
searching for a spotted bobbing robin with
wings held down so tight.

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.

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.

sit quietly. Play with your
Barbies on the floor. Don't stir up
anxiety. Momma has lots of
chores. Your hair is long. Momma's

patience’s is short. Just sit quiet;
don't cavort! Black and blue
don't mix with a dress of violet
hue. Don't ask so many things. And don't

you sing, hum or whistle. Don’t set
your momma off like a missile! ******
noses are messy. And your dressy in your
white gloves and leather shoes. Momma has

a short fuse. She has to have a break. And
she's no frozen steak in her icebox for
a swollen eye. Just lie down and take
a nap. So, momma can quietly relax.

aside like a cracked eggshell
after he scrambled
my brain. Cast me aside
in the rain like a broken umbrella

unhinged from the wind. He cast
me like an empty bottle of gin
after he licked his lips of the last
drop. Just tossed me off in

a trash bin filled of garbage
and rats and tin cans.  He cast me like
a doctor casts a broken leg, wrapped up
in plaster. And men drew with their

marker, calling me sweetie, till I looked
like a wall of graffiti!  He cast me with
the flick of his hand like an actor
in his play in a role I still have today.

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.

at all! I might bear
a semblance around the oval
face and slanted eyes and bulbous
nose. And even if I've the curve of her hips,

bowlegs and painted red toes, and circle belly
that wiggles as I walk like jelly. And I might
scream and lose it once in a while I do not fit
her profile. And even if we measure the same

feet tall, and have the same chestnut, wavy hair
don't you dare say we're the same at all! If I'm
a jaded **** I'm not at all like that old ****. And if
we’ve lived in the same house for some of my years,

let me make this clear I'm not a bit like her. I'll not
deter from this I say, not now or another day. And
even if I've her DNA and her genes I'll tell you plain
as I've all others I'm not my mother.

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