of eyes
that can see
a peony
from poison ivy
and hold it close
to so breast
and with eyes
caress

I yen for a clean set
of ears
that can hear
a harpsichord
from nails
on a chalk board
and dance to the notes

I yen for a clean set
of lips
that can string
a song
from a holler
sing the beauty
without a collar
take a cracked, dried frown
turn it upside/down

on dotty days lost in
a billowing haze of crimson
lingerie and perfume merry-go-
rounds that lifted us up

in sweet anisette but were
dropped to the ground like
a smoking cigarette. The fickle sky
painted orange didn't

blossom. It turned into
marmalade hurling its seeds
on our show parade. Burning
a hole in the horizon

that plundered our dreams
and covered our eyes in
shards of irascible men that died
at sunrise from the ink of a pen.

world I’d like to break
the glass that seals him in the scene
neat and clean. Is he a fairy-tale
I can't t enter into? Or is he

a display that provides me
visual entertainment? I can touch him
with my eyes, not my hands. I can touch
the glass, but not pass into the place

he stands. He's close. But
distant as a star. And as a star, I must
leave him behind the transparent
sphere.  Here, he can hold me in a stare,

but not in his arms. I can hear the whoosh
of the butterfly rustling on the pavement, no
claimant to the stars or moon. His sparkling
world leaves me pruned.

plays every time he calls. And my
heart go up another notch above
the volume of the song. And then I
hit the green accept that allows

his voice to emit from the piece of
plastic that I hold with clammy hands
like a teenager again. And then he says
my name, mine his.  And it feels as if

the ring tone got it right, or else Madonna
when she sings “If I could melt your
heart we’d never be apart” And so I don’t
feel so far away. And it fills up the space

of the double martinis. And I’m already dreaming
of the next time the song plays. And I go
through the process once more, of hearing music,
seeing green feeling joy and flying unicorns

that adorn the windshield.  And he says in that
sultry voice “hello Sandy” What could be finer
than this? Well, don’t go tell him that I said
“maybe a kiss” on those soft lips.

I was born a windstorm
with a squall as my blanket
and a scud for a cap I’d spent hours
taking a blustery nap.

I met you in a blast.
You were such a shock wave –
two spirits concaved
in a tempestuous puff we doused the light

a tumultuous rush had us blacken
the white
blow after blow, we were a flurry
I was your gale; you my eddy
The turbulence worn thin
as a wafer

I ate you for breakfast
and deadened the flavor
now you hang over me as mist
and I stand as a tempest
in need of a kiss.

only in the winter
as I’m stripped of my red
cloak? When the yellows have broken
and scrambled like egg yolk? When I can’t blanket
you in shade. And my bark is sharp as blades?

Do you see me
only in early spring
when my buds are tightly closed
like a fist swinging in the air
and breaking someone’s nose?

Do you see me
only in late autumn
when my colors are bleeding out
and fallen to the bottom. And my nut plunks
someone’s head so loud it shakes the dead?

Do you see me
only in the summer
so green and much
younger? A haven for the thunder. When you
laid under me and fell asleep at my feet?

No lips pressed tight
No burning candles bright
No heartfelt love professed
No reason to get dressed
Another lonely night

Spent my life
set up
in a alley
waiting for men to
knock me down
Dead White Weight
The “thud”
as I hit the ground

Spinning like the arms
on a clock
rolling around
even when my arms
are together
I'm under the weather

to you. Couldn't swim in cornflower
lakes of blooming mistakes. Drowned
as the ice cracked this body. Built
me a soddy that sank in the banks

of the Pio. You lost your brio
and sleeve. Cleaved to the past
when this woman could skate a diamond
lake. Spin and circle figure

eights. Pirouettes on tattered
crimson tutus. Stood on battered tiptoes
for you. Now the only lines that rhyme
is tequila mixed with lime.  And salt

the shot glass. The bloat turns out
as gas. Passing on cornflower
lakes. The fallen leaves bid to be raked
and bagged. Conversations nipped/not dragged.

Someone placed a piece of tape
across her lips.
Now her words cannot escape
or sink ships.

But she still has her fingers.
She can write.
The feelings she has always lingers,
into the night.

Keeping secrets forever is a drag.
She never could.
The cat’s out of the bag
for good!

is like a week without a bath. I feel
grungy and seedy. My hair is stuck
in mats. My smile is upside down. I never
laugh. My eyelashes stick together from

the drowning of my tears. My shadow
doesn’t follow me. I’m not that great
company. I’m melancholy as a storm cloud
that hangs around after the rain. The knot

in my stomach’s tied so tight it feels
like a chain pulling me from the inside, and
ripping me apart. My heart’s a black
box with no output. It lies outside my

body. And my brain is a can worms that
the hungriest fish would turn down. This is
what I call destitute –
a week without you.

the dark will show
come fast or slow
when his eyes grow dim
you’ll know him
when the walls come down
will he stick around
when the petals all fall
will he call
when the colors bleed
and you wallow in need
where will he be
that shade of blue
looks lovely on you
it matches your eyes

as a snowflake in July
I melt before I hit the sidewalk
disappear in thin air

as a rhinoceros tramping down main street
people move aside
the ones that don’t get trampled on
I don’t have a nose; I have a horn
and you wouldn’t want to find it up against your back

I don’t fit in; I fit out
As a result, I am shunned by the world
So, must shout to be heard

soap
would it rain bubbles?

If I threw up
pennies
would my fortune double?

If I threw up
powder
would it snow dust?

If I threw up
my hands in the air
would they start to rust?

the sun isn’t gold;
it’s jaundice. The stars don’t shine;
they burn. Your wheels just spin,
don’t turn. Your heart doesn’t beat;
it clinks. Your cheeks are white,
not pink. Today is no different than
tomorrow. Every day carries so much
sorrow. You’re sad; but the tears
won’t come. You’re moving; but you
feel so numb. It’s hard to feign
a smile. Dishes and ***** clothes collect
in a pile. You’ve no energy to get anything
done. You’re defeated before you’ve even
begun. People say it will get better. But for
you better never comes. When you’re depressed
all you feel is emptiness.

I Descry

in each of them –
Something
The first one –
Benevolence
He sang it until he lost his breath
The second one –
Neurosis
He buried himself with the wooden angst he tied below his waist
The third one –
Timorousness
He played a single note of trepidation on his tuning fork

my man can pull
my plug
all the ***** water
running out

still debris
sticking to the side
like fallen leaves
making a ring

round the whole thing
big as Aunt Bessie’s hide
if he can sift the dirt
from the water

it'd still turn cold
as Aunt Bertha's nose
as she's kissing me
smearing it in my cheek

leaving lipstick streaks
like zebra stripes
only they’re red
like someone bled
out into the night

as autumn leaves
breaking off from the trees
snared in a breeze
carried in a billowing wind
not to attach again

You pulled away
as light from the day
when storm clouds turn to grey
dusk hovering like a hummingbird
and all my dreams deferred

You pulled away
as a crusty scab on a scar
shrinking my life
as a smoked cigar
all turned to flaking ash
scattered in a blinding flash

I want to taste you he said. Thank God I’m coiffured
for the good doctor. My lips were large and parted –

as he started to go down south
hungrily feeding his greedy mouth. When you’ve given

birth twice it stretches you out like a linebacker. And I
trimmed the gym with a weedwhacker because no one likes

hair in their mouth. I wondered had he ever tasted patient
before? I would surely **** him if he said I tasted like chicken,

or worse yet fish. But I think he liked my dish. I seasoned
it well with perfume and powder after a long night in the shower.

Remember when you were pink
in the head like bubble gum? I could
chew you in wads and move you
to corners of my mouth. And as we played

the bubbles would float in a parade. Strawberry-
lemonade sifted through the hairs of our
skin. We frolicked like unborn twins. Who would
go first? And push this *** out. We were

shiny silver pinballs hitting off the
bumpers. I was banging my foot vivaciously
as thumper. So much so I bore a hole
in your floor. And from then, everything else fell in.

some things like ribbons
in my hair I'd cut the ties
and have them swinging free like
Gibbons in the tree.

If I could undo
the damage I’ve done
but how do you stop
a flying bullet after it’s shot
from a gun?

If I could undo
all the pain
I’d take a pair of scissors
and shear the clouds
stopping the rain.

If I could undo
the past
like a broken arm
set in a cast
but how shall I cast light
on covered broken pieces?

Weld them together with love
is the thesis!

on the page
awaiting the day
someone takes the reins
and guides them. Gets on

the saddle and rides
them. A silhouette, a dark
pirouette that stares at the stars
and wonders among the rain

and thunder. How could anyone
sleep when the moon is playing
make-believe? Filling up the head
with cheese. And no dangling

carrot. Why do they parrot
all the greats like Keats and
Blake? What’s wrong with sqeezing
lemon on freshly washed linen?

the oceans drained
till the sea turned desert
and the clouds inert
so, it stopped the rain
someone pulled the plug
and it's hard to feign

All
the stars collided
till the sky broke gas
in this billowing mass
men cried
it wouldn’t pass

All
the forests burned
every tree that stood
took a turn to fall
nothing but ash left
in a smoky squall

All
the flags bled
from mans oversized head
into the mire
the birds on the wire
were cooked
as the chickens in the fryer

pushed under the rug
buried in the earth I dug
crushed under man’s foot
thrown in a fire/turned to soot

I’ve had pieces
with hairline cracks
ones that melted down to wax
with jagged edges and faded top
the ones that bend and flop

I've had pieces
glued back together
but didn't hold in inclement weather
ones that scattered as mice
shaken and rolled like dice

I've had pieces
thin as floss
one’s old cloaked in moss
some are here
but most are lost
the ones here are covered in frost

draping over her.
Blowing minted kiss,
In a sea of grass.
Another day shall

pass. Glazed eyes mist
into a lime twist.
Dangling participles,
arms and wrist. Head

dropped back, stuffed
as a gunny sack. Hair spread
as a shaggy carpet. The argot of
the poet's dream. All the pages

in-between
of men and silent children’s
screams. But she can breathe
the air lying in cornflower cotton

and rope. This world forgotten,
with a drink to have her afloat.
Swinging, hanging suspended.
This is the life she intended.

the chrysalis
and not the butterfly
too much the cracked shell
not the cygnet inside

I’m too much
the fallen leaves
not the branches on the trees
to much the yellow weeds
not the grass surrounding these

I’m too much
a joke
not the punchline
just a runny yolk
spoiling the egg-whites

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.

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

as an artic blast
through the dank tunnels
of yesterday. Passed over me
as a tsunami. I sank

in his large wave. Passed as bloated
gas through my intestines. He's a bean
that cramped me with indigestion. I'd the runs
for days, weeks and months. He passed

the buck as a Mack truck on
the highway. Pulverizing sweet
meat with dancing eyes, Cheshire
grin and pearly teeth. Passed

every man on
the touchdown. He passed me
in years but not tribulations. Lawyers
passed papers halting all relations.

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.

for the successes.
But be there
for the failures too.
Anyone can love a star.
But who he is
goes beyond the trophies
sitting on the mantle,
or the degrees
hanging on the wall
or the money
or the title
that they call him.
It lies in his heart.

Be there
during the happy times.
But be there
for the disappointments
and heartbreaks.
Because they’ll be many.

Be there
to listen
without judgement.
But be there
when he shuts you out.
Let him know
the door is always open –
That’s what being a parent
Is all about.

They outgrow their clothes
and shoes.
But they don’t outgrow
their need for you.

too angry to speak
the tears all dried
nothing’s left to leak

I’m too hurt to move
the scars run deep
nothing’s left to prove
and I’m too weak

Forever is make-believe. The sun
only shines in the day. The sky grows dark and
grey. The red and golden leaves fall off
in the autumn breeze. Friends are like

the snow. They leave me cold. And
then turn to ice, leaving puddles of memories,
stealing apples from my eyes as thieves. I spend
more time talking to the head in the mirror,

the only woman nearer to me than
any of them, so-called friends. White knights
turned to black nights. Tossed like a salad. And limp
as I, so pallid. I ache to hold onto a mountain, strong

and fixed/not thrown like a stick. That I can look up
to and rise in altitude.

I am me.
Not Peggy Sue
or Mary Lee.
My thoughts are different,

my feelings too. I need a wider
fence to gallop and trot. All who
sat in my saddle have fallen
off. I won’t be roped in or

pulled. I’m sure I’d make
a better mule. Do not compare me
to your others! The bee makes honey –
the cow milk, the silkworm

silk. That's how it is! And will
always be so. If it’s too much for you –
then let me go!

I’d spend the livid day
swimming in the cool, green stream.
And dip below the surface
as the children ran and scream.

If I was a turtle
I’d bask in the light of the glowing sun
sitting on a fallen log
falling asleep till I heard the croak
of the old bullfrog.

If I was a turtle
I’d pull my head
and limber limbs inside
if someone jerky scared me.
I’d not leave my place to hide.

If I was a turtle
I’d not ask for a lot.
Inside my shiny, painted dome
I’d fiddle the day
not roaming from my home,
relaxed and fed, and gay.

that all the Brobdingnagian trees
exuviate their crimson orange leaves
gibbeting jagged appendages in the snow
and that emerald blades freeze

I'd not fall like a mosquito.
I'd grow plump as a pumpkin on the vine.
Not crushed and bottled
as grapes in the cherry wine.

And if his rounded face wasn't traced
on the mosaic tiled moon
this stock-still heart wouldn't race
and break from her blanket of a cocoon.

It hibernate in the slivers of a silky spoon,
sleeping as a nun till the lilacs bloom.
And the stars dancing pirouettes
wouldn't have me break out in a sweat!

her red lace, push-up, underwire
bra. Remembering the days
she didn’t wear a pretty contraption
that's useless beyond a confining attraction.

She slipped on
her spiral silver hoops. The holes
in her head match that of
her bed. She fills them in with
trinkets she picked up at the five-and-
dime, when she's not penning rhyme.

She slipped on
her stained apron to do
the cooking. None are booking her
for poetry readings. Her poems are
as her leftovers -
stale and cold.

She slipped on
the water that sloshed
from the cat's bowl
onto the floor. Fell on her *** -
sat and relaxed.

She slipped on
by his house without
a visit. She paid him many
in 2005. Now all she does
is hang outside.

like a beef and bean burrito
till you drew blood like
a mosquito. So, wrapped up
as a babe swaddled, till the years

with you dawdled. Wrapped
as a caterpillar in her chrysalis, I didn't
emerge as a butterfly. I was stricken
with syphilis. I couldn't wrap my head

around all of this. His sweet kisses
turned into hisses. I was wrapped as
a broken arm in a sling. I couldn't move
in this self-effacing fling. So, I cut

the appendage. And I hung back
suspended. Now I'm more like a dowel
than a wet paper towel.

as a stuffed purse
about to burst at
the seams. I was
so green.

My Passion Bulges
as a toad’s throat,
puffing out after a meal,
like a water-balloon,
with a broken seal –
till it splatters. That’s
when I could feel.

My Passion Bulges
now like a fat man’s
shirt, tightly drawn over
the chest until it hurts, riding up
the flesh and splitting the
buttons. That’s what I get
for being a glutton!

as others grew up. I was attached
as a continent until I broke off
and became an island. Every man
I gave my hand held a chisel. Carved

a piece out of my middle. Now my head’s
hung to my chest. And my feet are at
my knees. I don’t bend to sit. I’m bent
so, I fit with the bottom crawlers. I’m little

as a bonsai, ornamental and
dwarfed. I morphed into a living
corpse. Drinking my days in a purple
haze. Once you’ve lopped you can’t

reattach. A broken branch can’t
hitch back on the tree. It rots on the
ground, covered by leaves. Not missed –
just a stick

raising Cain
***** zealots
rising as
a full moon
popping heads
red balloons
turning up
without a ticket
leaping as a giant cricket
skin is crawling
like a bucket of maggots
eyes are bawling
like a wolf caught rabbit
**y itch
making her twitch
growing in clusters
a woman musters
her strength to live

yellow as the sun.
But as a lemon,
bitter was his taste
lying on my tongue.

He shined
red as my satin lipstick.
But as I pressed him to my lips,
like a virus
I fell sick.

He shined
as a silver dollar.
But as he pulled me close,
I choked
like wearing a tight dog collar.

He shined
as a gold mine.
But as our bodies danced,
he pickled me like brine.

like confetti at New Years’ Eve
sprinkling on me
as rainbow-colored showers
blooming as a garden of flowers
that he didn’t water
he did not bother

He threw them at me
like rice at a wedding couple
ever so supple
and I fried them up in matzo *****
but they knocked me down as rolling pins
he's only practicing

He threw them at me
like a bucket of rain
yellow and stained
soaked me
until my clothes stuck to my skin
heavy and dripping
I held the empty bucket  
of his promises
full of drain holes
making puddles around my toes

You’ve been looking
rather grim.
Seems your life’s
pretty dim

Why so serious?
So sad?
Just be delirious!
Be glad.

Be a ****!
Let it rip!
Shut the tube
Take a dip

Life is short.
Have some fun
Eat a torte
Kiss your ***

Smile
Make faces
Dial
Strange places

Do the things
On your bucket list
Cut the strings
They won’t be missed

that can switch his eyes,
nose. mouth, and hands. He turns
hats faster than an alley cat. Filling
the holes in red blue and gold. Yesterday

stood a boxer asking for a rematch.
Today he’s a pirate donning
his eyepatch. I can’t tell the mask he’ll
wear. His parts are strewn

everywhere. His smile as a clown
turns into a mustache-colored
brown. He puts on boots, sneakers
leather shoes, and suits. He's a villain.

He's a hero, a reptilian, a Robert
De Niro. If I could only bake
fry, mash, or stuff him! Throw him
in my oven. But I'm not a glutton.

You can take my money
Rob me blind
I’m still sweet as honey
And twice as kind

You can take my clothes
I still have my skin
All you have is prose
Poetry is the house I am in

You can take my car
I still have my feet
I’ll never be where you are
I am complete

You have your golden sunsets
But I’ve my golden showers

You plant vegetables in your garden
I plant vegetables where the sun doesn’t shine

Some think I waste my time
But they are eager to pay
Because I do things that others wouldn’t dare
This woman cuts a rug and her ***** hair

They beg for more
Why would I stop?
It’s fun and it pays the bills –
And I’ve my writing still
And this spills into it

Gives me more material to pen
And afterwards?
I can do unimaginable things with that same pen
that make men think they’re in heaven

on my line and cast them out
two at a time? Some swim
around them. Some stop
in their harried day to take a breath

and catch a glitter in the
corner of their eye. Wipe the glitter,
as if it a speck of dust that swept up
in a wave. But can they stop to take

a bite? Plucking my shiny notes as
apples off a tree, the juices running a marathon
in their teeth. Or cutting them up into pieces
for the pie, making them all the same size.

and a
down one.
A silence,
and alarm

one. There’s an
on; and there’s
an off. If you push mine –
mazel tov

I held it swiftly
and swiftly it passed
like a car crash

and the causalities were many
like a box of Good & Plenty
white and pink capsules

those oval rascals all jounce together
unravel like a sweater
caught on a hook

I am
by yesterday
hung on every word you said

like clothes stretched on the line
in wintertime
frozen stiff in place

because they’d rather be there
then tucked away
when will I cease

like a flaccid *****
I can’t enter anything
here I go again