And that’s where you’ll stay,
sitting in a nest of hairspray. Drifting in
and out of reverie, not down here
on earth with me.

You’re in my heart
And that’s where you’ll remain,
pumping blood through
the blue/red veins, not here
held in my arms, where our hearts
can beat in unison.

You’re in my soul
And that’s where you’ll shine,
bright as the twinkling stars
that have me blind. The horizon is
flat, and falls off the edge as a cat
in a tree. Without your breath
I can’t breathe.

I’m no longer looking inside
someone else’s face
for recognition. I’ll look at my own reflection
when I need recognition. I’m no longer looking

inside someone else’s heart
for love. I’ll look inside my own heart. And love me
with all my heart. Inside myself is where
I want to be. Inside myself lives a unique individual

who has many great gifts to offer
this world. But first I must offer the greatest gift
of all, which is the gift of love that I offer to myself,
with no pretense or strings or relying on someone

else. This is me, incredible and crazy. This is me,
amazing and peculiar. This is me flowing and
free. This is me angry and disturbed. This is me a clown
and a nerd. This is me silly, crying and delirious. This is me

reflective and serious. There is more. Yes, so much more,
and more and more yet to come. I’ll never be done
with me, a work in progress, who gets lost and comes back
to this - being me. No one else can do “me” better.

every morning. Up at 4, recording. I make
hundreds a month. But it ain’t squat. I've a
voice. But it ain't sought.  **** this
Covid ****. Have *****/will travel. Paris is real

for every woman and man. Paris isn’t on
the map for me. Dried is the ink on my passport,
tough cookies! Not to mention, this type of work

doesn’t have a pension. The exercise
to have this shape is grueling. All to have
them drooling like a rabid dog. So, I can
twirl my tongue around their log.

once as supper
like swallowing an upper
like a snort of *******
hits straight to the brain!

Love me
twice as windshield wipers
back and forth
you take south/I'll take north.

Love me
thrice as a triangle
we'll tangle with another
then we'll swap -
with her on top.

Love me
quarce is a farce! To go on
like this I'd miss work. I'd miss
my friends and the news at ten. You
only die once! But not I -
La petite mort
screams and sighs

the rug
from under her feet
laid her flat
as a fitted sheet
and danced
over the body
on every beat

He Pulled
rose petals off
one by one
till the crimson bloom lay
scattered blood ashes
curled in the tray

He pulled
the stitching out
before the wound closed
then he ran as a run
in her pantyhose

He pulled
the plug
from her life-support
stole her breath
on every caress
till the last death

Don’t you think we should
talk about her? You’ve been coming here
for two years and never said a word. *****
What? Never mind. I don’t like the topic. I need

a drink. Think of something that reminds you
about her. It’s too early in the day and I need a drink
anyway. Ok, it’s a song. What song? Helen Reddy sang
it. It’s about a mother and daughter at the circus. Tell me

the lyrics. NO, I’ll email you them. NO, tell me what you
remember now. I don’t read your emails anyhow.
“When the circus came to town; and you were frightened by the clown” There must be more. There is. But it’s the end of the session.  A Jewish

shrink who wrote a book about the holocaust, stingy *******
that he was threw me out after he broke ground. Never again
would I talk about it with anyone. But I wrote a book about him –
here’s the plug: When Therapy Fails – Mishandling The
Transference. It’s available on Amazon.

That was my theory.  I had three psychologists
at once. A couple of them saw me for free. I was that
interesting. They would have paid me to come. I wasn’t
dumb. I knew how to play the system. I started dating

the one named Jim. There was so much psychologically
wrong with him that I gave him over to my other psychologist
Rick. Jim insisted that we go as a couple as well. So now
I was seeing Rick for therapy alone, as well as seeing him

for couple’s counselling with Jim. It was so surreal
having two of my psychologists in the same room! One of them  
I was dating! I was also seeing a third. And brought Jim
to him too! It doesn’t get more absurd than this. And I was married,

no less! And doing couple’s counselling with two
psychologists and my other one, who was now my
boyfriend. Did I lose you; I know it’s confusing. I don’t write
fiction because I couldn’t make this stuff up if I try. But I’m not

going to lie. It was purely amusing! Jim sat there next to me
fondling his pen, rubbing the shaft over and again as if
it was *******. He was ******* the pen in my therapist’s office, which was now his therapist too. And seeing him squirm

on the couch as my other therapist sat across from us
looking as if this kinda stuff happens all the time was
sublime. Psychologists are the most messed up people
I know. I love each and every one of them all!

with the sun
just to throw shadows at me
for fun
and then fade

Don’t tease me
with the moon
making out as two silhouettes
that waltz and spoon
and then hide in the light

Don't tease me
with butterfly kisses
fluttering red, orange and gold
whisper what bliss is
then go

I run the rapids
on his back. A rocky ride,
an avalanche of spray
and chance. Twists and

turns. Old returns
of smiles have me belted
in the moving whirlwind. I’ve
fallen off once or twice. But the water’s

cold as ice. And I can’t swim. He
has a knack for pulling me
back. Mountains and trees, swirling
leaves of memories steady me, amongst

the spider sun. I spun and spun
as a **** on a vane. Now the falls
are fast here as a cockroach
in the kitchen cabinet. I’ve no regret.

a rose
into a vine of thorns
plucking all the petals off
in a bed of scorn

You turned
a snowflake
into an icicle
hanging on the eaves
falling as the leaves
daggers of steely deeds

You turned
a robin’s nest
into scrambled eggs
by breaking all the shells
you said you meant well

You turned
an azure sky
into darkened grey
rolling in the clouds
cutting the sun’s rays

You turned
a bright green grass
into acrid straw
turning a bighead
on all the things you saw

cooled. So, we fell like a souffle'
left on the counter for a day. We just
collapsed as we relaxed into this. And slurs

replaced a kiss. As this grew stale
we exhaled just like a cough. I choked
on his words. It gave me reflux like

my Gerd. I guess you can say
some men are just bad indigestion. So,
many I've passed -

like gas, Couldn't wait for
them to leave, To clear the air
so I can breathe!

all out. That’s how
I learned it’s sordid. I sort of
knew before I found out. It made
me sore to see. So, I put my

dark sunglasses on,
the spectacles with the tinted
shades. Turned my head and
said not today.

in his chain of
“can’t let gos”
with a flick of
finger I began

to quiver
till I toppled on
the next spotted
vagabond that

fell as hard
as I
neither standing
after the ride

as he laughed
to see us all
knocked out flat
that's the last

I'll fall in line
for a man's tricks
no matter his shine

a grenade on them
I thought I was smoken hot
they thought not
they saw me for who I was
an amateur that had not much
that put out everything
and got back nothing
But insults
even so despite it all
I’m doing something
that I love
even if I’m **** on a platter
what does it matter

hurting. And that the loneliness
would leave me alone. I wish my life
could have meaning, and that people
would be kinder, find something in
my writing that would inspire them. I
feel like my cat that paces in front of
my computer screen. All I see is
a big blob of black that makes
me sneeze.

the path I’m heading toward
or the path I've traveled
leads me to the sky.
And the sky rains or shines.

Not seeing
this mess of a woman in the mirror
or the scared girl from the past
acting as a vine, running up and
down sticking to a trellis
leads me to blowing in the wind.
And the wind can take me
to new places.

hit the snooze button
during this part?
Can switch the switch
to off?
Can I stand back
and watch?

Sometimes I
don’t want to get involved.
It doesn’t mean
that I don’t care.
It just means
that I’m tired of it all.

You can’t see anything
until you
Wake up.
You can’t go anywhere
until you
Get up
You can’t get together
until you
Make up
You can’t see the sky
until you
Look up
You won’t change a thing
until you’re
Fed up

as a kitten swimming upstream
****** as marionette on a string
lower than the Mariana snailfish
feeding on the ocean floor
When did life become a chore?  

I’m bare
as the trees in winter
colder than an Arctic breeze
sour as Lisbon lemon drops
When did I blow it all out like a sneeze?

I'm lifeless
as a mannequin in a department store window
slower than a tortoise walking a tightrope
falling as the autumn leaves
black as a lump of coal
hung over as the eaves on my rooftop
When is this feeling ever going to leave?

people aiming for my center –
throwing their steely blades
not that far from face
thinking they’ll ******* score a win
if they get their little ****** in
but this woman has a trick or two
she’s Not going for another corkscrew

is Groundhog Day. I pop
out and see my shadow.  I crawl
back in my hole, bury myself
under the things I stole.

Every day
is Howdy Doody Day. I pack up
the rage and the pain, say goodbye
to my audience. Leave ‘em all
with a dance.

Every day
is April Fool's Day. I pick
apart myself, selling pieces
to men, painting their
piece golden.

as a scarlet letter
big and bright
on my low-cut sweater.

I wear the pain
as a banana peel
skidding across
the street
in stiletto heels.

I wear the pain
as a lumberjack
wielding a long-
winded ax.

I wear the pain
as a blinding torch
scorching the ground
I walk around.

and fly with the crows
don’t waste time hobnobbing
with those that parrot
what they hear
and then drop bombs
like pigeons

Was I too perfervid -
Dazzling you as the sun in mid-afternoon
Did it leave you blind?
You prefer the pall of a midnight moon
Shorn of strength/forced to grind

Was I too esoteric -
Pulling you in opposite directions
Did it boggle the mind?
You prefer those pat connections
Shorn on time/so unkind

Was I too clamorous -
Bedeviling you with this wicked game
Taut as an angling line twined
You never will be quite the same
Shorn to yourself/ left behind

to take away your joy
your hope for tomorrow
to leave you stranded and bitter
to make your heart fill with sorrow
so, you become a quitter
to leave you empty-handed
to never want to love again
to make you think you have landed
because they cut off your wings
no one person has this right to control you
The stars shine brightest in the darkest sky
If the stars above me can so can I

when it comes to you
I fall softly as I turn crimson
from the heat of a touch
as an apple fallen off the tree
when its overripen by the sun
as I turn orange as a pumpkin
pie wafting through the kitchen
or sitting outside on the wooden steps
yellow as the hay that’s been swept up
in the barn after a long day
of milking the cows
the cascading leaves swirling
int the crisp, cool air makes me want to
pull you closer and fall into a bed of them
piled as high as a mountain

in colorful bloom.
Don't wait till I'm set out
as folding chairs in the little
room. Roses red as the blood

before it was drained. Deep as
the purple in the chapel’s glass windows
stained. Gold as sunflowers rising tall. Sweet
as the orange lilies painted on my bedroom

wall. The magnolia and peony smiling
down on me. Lilac’s dancing  pirouettes in
weeping willow trees. Let me run crazy
in a field of sweet daisies. Rubbing

buttercups between my toes,
in a garden hammock with a canopy of
green leaves for shade. Don't wait for
the day for this old body to fade.

you do not lull me
with your calming waves no more.
My body splinters, crashing
upon these nubs of jagged rocks.
I'm a floating piece of driftwood
that reached an empty shore.
The blazing sun, a leather whip
beats down ******* me.
Embedded in the tawny grains of sand
I lie awake so stark.
I'm ravaging. A stiff board
filled with empty holes
by scavenging birds that stripped away
all my protective bark.
When the lonely tide pulls up
to meet a crescent moon
I'll know my time has come to naught.
This piece of driftwood
will float into a salty watered grave
and leave its resting dune.

in the beginning is the young child
always thinking, questioning why
the sky is blue, why the sun is round,
why the rain falls down.

The Poet
in the early morning is the first one
rising at dawning, before the robin
sings his sweet song, with mind moving
as pistons, shaping, shifting and lifting.

The Poet
in midafternoon, jots down thoughts
on a paper napkin while stirring her
coffee with a spoon. Everything she sees
will be composed into a poem, even some
poor innocent child without their knowing.

The Poet
in the evening hunkers down with
a book, to escape into another man’s
story, cut from the loincloth of his pages
she engages another brilliant mind before
her bedtime.

the day
the same way
coaxing myself
to climb out of
this mountain of bed
with all the covers
spread out like a thick blanket of snow
weighing down the branches
as this head dances
like a bobblehead doll
sealed in a box
you can purchase at the mall

I go through
the door
and out into the world
like a furled umbrella
that when dry is stellar

I go through
the motions
like a shackled prisoner
wearing heavy chains around the ankles
handing out samples of weathered burn lines
behind a thin screen
of rust colored dust in the basement
where the windows have no curtains
so, all can look in
at the experiment

that come from the supermarket. And honey
isn’t used for tea anymore. Same as the whip
cream you buy at the store. When you’re a ****
star on a very low budget you got to be

inventive. Your phone is your camera. There is
no director. Anywhere you plant your ***
your stage is there. Whatever they donate to PayPal
is your income. You’re still selling your books

very slowly. Last month you sold four of them
only. And you think you did this because of
the recognition you got for taking all your
clothes off. This almost breaks your spirit. But you

do what you must because you know it’s all
part of the game. Plenty of artist’s have gone
insane because of the fickleness of this profession,
that strips more than what’s on the outside –
more than what buttons, zippers and ties.

putty in his hands
pulled and stretched
like rubber bands

No more shall I be
crumbs on the floor
swept up and thrown out
the door

No more shall I be
on the bottom
of his list
making me feel
like I don’t exist

No more shall I be
awake at night
tossing and turning
til morning light

No more shall I be
weeping all day
with my head in my hands
under a dark cloud of grey

No more shall I be
a victim
now that I've kick'd him
to the curb

stuck in my shoe
preventing me from walking
the piece of food
caught in my tonsils
preventing me from talking
the sand pooling my eyes
preventing me from seeing
the gale howling through my window at night
preventing me from sleeping
the collar attached to the leash around my throat
preventing me from moving
the pillowcase over my head
preventing me from breathing
all of this, mother –
preventing you from loving

as nightfall stung
in a blood-red October sky
as dewdrops rolled off blades of grass
and the air passed through my silky dress
caressing each mound of breast
till I heaved in distress
and broke out in hives

Waited till
the calendars flung
out of the window as robin sung
on snowy branch
and my pen danced on perfumed paper
that lit up like fire
as I inhaled the vapor
drunk on yesterday
and bent of this caper

Waited
in shadows hung
on city streets
like stalkers stalking me
in the desert moon
and weeping icicles
in the month of June
till I froze in my tracks
an ice-sculptor for the parade
with a pound of lemon, *****
and sage

before it took anymore out
of me. I had to be the pins in his
coffin. I had to shoot him in the back
while he was walking. I had to do it
because if I did not, I’d lick his *****
until they fell off. He’d hide in holes
just like a mouse. We’d ****** scream
and ****** **** and go to bars.
Get ****** drunk. Fight until the fight
in us was gone. I put him to sleep once
and for all.

I am splintered. I've lived through
many cold, dark winters. I’m shattered
into bits. Some of my chips
have turned to dust/swept up

in a storm. Thrown out to sea
in a kaleidoscope of blue and
green. I'm a broken mirror. I can't see
clearer through the cracks. I've stopped
counting all the hacks. Hold your hands

into a cup. Build my shattered pieces
up. They'll shine into a swirling mosaic, like
a painting Da Vinci created. Blood red and orange
makes the sonance. I'm a million misshaped

parts that can turn into a work
of art in gifted hands that sees every piece
as a pearl. And strands a golden chain
through the holes. But does not claim it as his own.

as the goose feathers
in my pillow,
hanging as a weeping willow.

I’m down
as last night’s pelting rain.
Spinning in circles
as a weathervane.

I’m down
as George Floyd.
Pinned by this world
But able to strike.
This hand is a snake
It can bite.

You clipped the wings off the dove
Took the bloom off the rose
Snipped the tresses of an angel, love
Painted black as the crows

You strung her heart on a line
Hung it out until it dried
Pitched the wrinkled fruit in pine
Ditched your terracotta bride

the pyramids of egypt
swim the seven seas
climb Mount Everest
but I'd not find

a man so soft and kind.
I'd bathe in turquoise waters
on a shore of pink powder sand
among cockleshells and waves

that swell and still not feel myself
without you to hold my hand.
Butterflies, key lime pie and
a cornflower sky don't do a thing

for me if I'm not with you. Morning dew
would look like sweating leaves. And cotton
candy clouds would look as shrouds
on corpses hung on trees.

intense
burning mid-day sun
blistering his skin
leaving him tail-spun

She was too
splintered
jabbing at his arms
too many winters
putting out alarms

She was too
needy
taking all his time
greedy
a woman in her prime

He was too
old
to play around
but men cannot be told
and he'd not slow down

was a mile
I’d circle the earth
and back again
the hardest walk
without a friend

If every teardrop
was a match
I’d light a forest the world around
till I flattened the ground
and all the trees
crumble as leaves

If every teardrop
was a raindrop
I’d flood the oceans
with my emotions
men have to build an ark
surrounded by circling sharks

If every teardrop
was a note
they’d hang in the air
a song of love and despair
and men waltz
bowing their heads
till they all went off to bed

If every teardrop
was a rung
I'd climb
till spring has sprung
heaven high
and touch the moon
till tulips bloom
from hazel eyes
daffodils and butterflies

to the window
and missed me
at his door.

I ran
out of energy. This life
became a chore.

He ran
over. So, he
didn't call.

I ran
head over feet -
that's how I fall.

He ran
an errand,
making me wait.

I ran
out quietly
slinking as
a skate.

He ran
his moil
on the phone.

I ran
my toil
with a grunt
and a groan.

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.

it can melt in
your hand. You can
freeze it to preserve it. But
you’ll not savor

the flavor until it’s
unwrapped. The juices
run down the length
of your chin. You’ll

be holding a stick. I’ll hold mine
with a grin. I took it
out of the box, unwrapped it
and lick after lick **** myself

in blue raspberry bliss. I’ve brain
freeze and a blue tongue. But
flings can be flung/songs can be
sung. I’ll not be hung up in

a box. I’ll bleed my colors on
the wood, than stuck in a bag
labeled Hood!

bought me little, just a lot of
dead weight carried around. A penny
a day didn’t pay for all my pain. Wasted
time and a bungle of lies that destroyed

lives. I carried them in my pocketbook
the first year. They jingled as I walked up
the stairs. I said I'm pulling down stars. So, I moved
them to a bigger jar. Did they shine bright

in the thick of the night. But as the years
passed the lid didn't fit on the glass. The sparkle
turned to rust. And he blew me off as dust
in the wind, carrying the weight of a thousand sins.

I’ll Never Be This Age Again

They ooh and ahh
fawn all over me
get excited when I say a word
clap their hands when I take a step
though I look absurd!
Walking like young Frankenstein
Diapers/sippy cups
Whine! Whine! Whine!

I’ll Never Be This Age Again
Santa Clause
The tooth fairy
Fairy tales
Make believe
Soiled clothes
Scraped knees

I’ll Never Be This Age Again
Broken hearts/hurtful words
a face full of pimples
greasy hair
an attitude that’s rude
**** and bras
tampons and pads
drinking and cursing
driving mom mad

I’ll Never Be This Age Again
Jobs and college
Cars and boys
Leaving home
Depression
Anxiety
Suicide watch
Just the cost
of growing up

I’ll Never Be This Age Again
Marriage
A house
And babies
Running around
like crazy

I’ll Never Be This Age Again
Fighting
Divorce
Affairs
Resentment
Anguish
Wrinkles
a thicker middle


I’ll Never Be This Age Again
Forgetfulness
Hot flashes
Sagging *******
and *****
Dreams left unfulfilled
Cancer
Heart disease
Funerals

those dead layers of skin. They’re dried on
and peeling and making you itch. They’ve been pasted
to you as a cast to a broken bone. It looks like a coat
your mother has sewn. Many have spelled out words and

written their names. You’re toting around
the hall of fame. Liberation comes with release. It feels
like you’re holding back a sneeze. Or are you
remembering the burn? Those days when you stayed

out in the sun too long. When you were young
consequences were like gum. You could easily
swallow it, stick it under your desk at school or spit it out
the bus window at some passing by fool.

as a baby was my
index finger. Wrapping
your tiny fingers around it
snug. I fell in-love with

the squeeze of your
touch. I was amazed by
the strength of your
hand, how it curled tightly

like a strand of hair. And your soft
little nails looked so pale. And now
with that same hand you can pick
me up.

When my dear, did you
grow up?

right
you like
her smile's bright
skin's tight
and she's chesty

Swipe
left
he's hefty
his nose, a balloon
like a Flintstone cartoon

Swipe
for a match
to land a catch
there's a rolling batch
of new pictures to

Swipe
like a line dance
to the left
to the right
did he use a filter
or is he a bodybuilder?

Swipe
your future is in your finger
Mary Ann or Ginger?

as an old sweater I outgrew
with holes big as blood clots
and unravelling
uneven, fuzzy pilling
broken fibers
tangled into knots
but not willing
to throw the tattered woolly
mammoth out
because despite the loose threads
faded color
and unsharpened arms
that look like cow’s teats
which haven’t been milked in weeks
it still provides me warmth
each time I slip it on