There’re all around
They stand in line with you
Sit with you at the same table in the library
They live next store to you
The dead-end street
They eat with you
Sleep with you
They are there  
So is the sofa and chair
That you eat on
And sleep on
Yet something isn’t
And this is
The absence of

sits as a ton of bricks
in my chest. I can’t breathe. I gasp
for air and flap, as a fish
pulled from its cool water bath.

A broken heart
lays as a heavy sack
on my back. I’m hunched
over. And I move slow
carrying the load. Some days
I don't move at all. It hurts so,
my engines stalled.

A broken heart
weeps in the night under
the corner streetlight. It hangs
its head down as a willow tree
and cleans the sidewalk with
teardrops leaves.

If I could wave the goodbyes,
goodbyes
bid them farewell
without malice intent

instead of planting them  
in my backyard
until they turn cement
and become the sidewalk

I trod upon
an empty grave
If I wouldn’t save them
I could stave off

the ruefulness and
discontent of
another day

to where we are now
not because it was easy
but because it was hard

We made it through the threats
and passive-aggressiveness
broken vows and distance
unveiling and resentment

Even when I wasn’t healing
and the problems were monumental
we still managed to get through
but not unscathed -

Even though we came out of this
different people -
even jaded I would say

One thing didn’t change -
the choice to stay in this
without the footholds or
the rope, head-lamps or jackets
picks or axes

Nothing like bare-backing it

as sunlight dims
and skies grey

don't go chasing
rainbows now

they hide themselves
inside the clouds

don't become entranced
as violet, blue and yellow dance

as orange, red and indigo
build a bridge that's faux

you won't find a *** of gold
after the colors slide

if you stare into the sun,
you'll go blind

up pennies off the ground
Pick up someone
whose been down.

Don’t pick
your nose in public
It’s rude.
Same with
your cuticles.
Pick a smile to wear today.
It will dress up a lonely face.

Don’t pick
a fight with someone
who challenges you.
Pick your words carefully
And use them sparingly

Don’t pick
the lint off your clothes
Pick a time to give your time.
You’ll see the glint
in someone’s eyes.

Your hypocrisy- wings
Your bureaucracy- wings
Your insults- wings
Your consults- wings
Your expectations-wings
Your impatience-wings
Your resignations-wings
Your demands-wings
Your commands-wings
Your arrogance-wings
Your disinheritance-wings
Your apathy-wings
Your cruelty-wings
Your duality-wings

Bye, bye! Fly high, high away

Every pass I take
I can’t erase the reflection in
the glass. Mirrors in the clouds. Mirrors in
the puddles on the ground. Even my shadow

carries them around. Mirrors make me look
larger the closer to them I stand. I’m going to
throw them all in the closet. Mirrors in
my car. Mirrors on the wall. They’re all over

the mall. Mirrors in the salon. I’ve been
introduced to mirrors from the day
I was born. I’ve broken them into pieces. I’ve
thrown in them in the trash. I can

no longer define myself from some piece of glass.

in my arms
they're the blanket
to your soul
throw out all your troubles
allow them to float
weightless in the air
lay your weary head
upon my chest
close your eyes
drift away
slumber in peace
ensconce in my arms
nothing can get to you
no one can do you harm
swaddled in my love
my breath a gentle breeze
rocks you in a cradle
of elongated limbs
nestles you in comfort
before another day begins

with vanilla ***** and wedges of men
strawberry wine, stilettos and pen. I have
so many like Swiss cheese. You can
thread them together as if they were

beads. I stuff them with pound cake
and chocolate ice cream, tampons
and broom closet screams. Fill them
with lines of rhyme and feathered

earrings. Some I was born with. Some
I’ve made. But I’ll not forget the ones
given to me. They grew over the years,
like a little brother that didn't leave

home, large as the mountains,
and deep as the seas. But I’m proud
that I pushed out my babies. And I'll fill
all their holes with love and with cream.

to sprinkle over me and not baby powder
I can rise in this heat. And not lie as a wafer. It's much
safer when they don’t know you. None can expose
you. I’ve pulled apart like an onion flower, crispy on

the outside and silky on the in. But I’m more than
just a weeping, rolling bulb of yellow skin. I’ve
curdled over the years from jumping hurdles
as a horse. I’m looking for the path that’ll

take me on a different course. Old as the oak
in my backyard. But even he turns his leaves from green
to red and gold, a blooming marigold standing high
with head pushing through the sky. But I’m the sort

of woman that doesn’t shed her leaves. I’m tired of
acting like a dog matted down with fleas. I’m going to
shake loose from this noose wrapped around me.

goes round and round,
a conveyor belt. As sweat
melts off every man and
woman standing bored out of

their skulls, homing in as
a flock of gulls. Mashed together
as broken shells around this
carousel. And waiting. Baby screaming

out her lungs. Boy sticking out
his tongue. And the colors swirl, gold
red, blue, and purple, a Van Gogh
painting. And waiting.

She’s so out of herself
There is no containment
Puts on a performance
People need entertainment
Never did what she wanted
Only what they expected

She was so into him
She got badly damaged
Because the big boy
Never could manage
Her feelings

She takes everything
But her inside's growling
Louder than the wind
Outside howling

Empties the gin
She stole yesterday
To fill in
Her belly and pain
It doesn’t;
but what does it matter

a running rapid
not a vapid rivulet
She’s a canyon big and bold
not a pebble or a stone

She’s a loud crack of lightning
not a steady murmur
She’s a swirling typhoon
not a distant tremor

She’s a pulling riptide
not a circling ripple
She’s a shooting spark
not a flickering fizzle

She’s the blazing sun
not a billowing cloud
She’s the fertile earth
after it’s tilled and plowed

She’s wild horses
an oasis in the desert
she’ll put you off
drag you under
raise you up as the Titanic
throw you back
in a panic

She’ll love you fiercely
as a lion
show you parts of her
but she’s hiding
the blackness in her chest
She’ll hand you her soul
nothing less

I don’t want a lot of money
I’ve gotten by on bread and beer
I don’t want a big mansion
I could live inside a square -
four corners and roof

I don’t need a stage to sing on
I only want to sing to you
I don’t need fine jewelry
or a trip to Hollywood

I don’t want designer clothes
jeans and a tee will do
I love walking barefoot in the snow
Holding hands in the woods
All I want is for you to care
Do you think that you could?

as a sweater
shrunk in the dryer.
You no longer fit.
You're just a liar.
So, I split.

I outgrew you
as a baby blanket
I'd carry around
till you tore
and colors faded.
I no longer paraded
you in town.

I outgrew you
as cigarettes.
Sick of the sweats.
I kicked the habit.
Jumpy as a rabbit.
You stunk
with smoky breath.
No longer the dance of death.

My life has become breadcrumbs, little pieces broken off
scattered in the dark. They get stepped on; they get
lost. They get gobbled up by mangy pigeons, not the least bit happy to leave me a smidgen. It’s not as if I want much,

a little chunk to call my own. Here, take the carcass. But leave
a bone. I’m a tendril, stirrup-shaped stapes. You can’t see me. I’m set in place, stuck as an oyster, hard to shuck, wasting time
lying in muck, kicked over, picked up and thrown down. I feel

smaller than a grain of sand. I am bluer than the bluest
ocean. Is it too much to want a little more? Am I’m I selfish
for not settling for scraps? I grow anxious watching time
lapse. I’m useless as a dried tea bag that’s discarded in the

trash. I’m picked over as the bargain bin. No one knows my anguish or suffering. I grew up a sliver, so I stick in people
as a splinter, until the pain’s unbearable. If you wanted to measure my worth it’d be negligible, except for my hurt.

Fill up the basin, see it drain
your dreams –
circle around the white porcelain
like watching the headless horseman, carrying the weight
of its thoughts in its hands and riding hard until
they go out through a vacuous shard.

Every afternoon is the same
Fill up your purse with things so diverse –
as cosmetics, alcohol, candy and clothes and rush out the door
without being exposed for the illicit stunt.
Another victorious scavenger hunt!

Every evening is the same
Fill up the martini glass with enough *****
to make you pass-out on the couch so you can forget
about your useless life as each poem you write
wilts. Besides, they only think you’re made of fluff. You’re dead as the skin cells that slough off in the bath.
There can only be one Sylvia Plath.

Bitter berry
despite your pretty, white flowers
the bitterness you hold inside
is poison with each attending try
Even your leaves singe
upon touching them
All parts of you contain
an irritant that starts in your roots
and shoots up to the oblong crimson moons
Pain ensues -
Unbearable
5 or 6 will make you ill
But the 2nd one done you in
Never to go back
Black
No longer admiring
the pretty, white flowers
Bitter as the Bane
You must live in shade

cold as New England
winters. Fallen like wood from
an axe in shards shaped and
sharp as tacks in my back

yard. My pieces are pine
needles spread over a patch of
yellow blanket. Cause I look like
litter to the fox and the hound

as they go. I dry to a dullish
brown and blend in with the ground
as the sun thawed the snow. Men
trod with boots and squirrels

paw with their claws, leaving me
turned up as autumn leaves. I
bottom out in the eaves. A paste of
mud and stick is me.

of my love it fit you like
a velvet glove, molded to your
leather hand, wrapped around
your fingers like a rubber band, cutting off
your circulation. You'd be growing
a new mutation.

If you held a drop
of my pain it crush you like
a freight train. You'd be cut off from
the wrist. Your veins hanging
into a gnarly twist.

If you held a drop
of my sweat, a tiny pearl
be a threat. It burn a hole inside
your palm as if someone dropped
an hydrogen bomb.

If you held a drop
of my tears, for all the years
I wept inside my hands you'd fill
the oceans and the seas. I’m not a pluck
of hair you can tweeze.

These lines never pass the embryonic stage.
They never formed limbs to walk off
on their own.
They never found a mouth to speak up loudly
and be heard.
They don’t even show, this early on.
So, nobody missing them.
You can’t miss what never had a start.

Yet each one has a beating heart.
No bigger than a pixel.
A light united, only if it was wishful.
If they were nourished by the father,
and given love to form I am sure
they would turn into their own.

I’ve given them all I can.
I labored hours every morning, pouring my
heart and soul into each one of them.
I spread the exciting news to everyone.
I’ve crossed my fingers and prayed that one of them
would be born.

One of them would have a name,
a name that everyone knew and called.
But as soon as the news goes out
I am left holding the empty sac of dreams.
Because this early on most don't recognize
they ever existed -
just as they don't recognize me as their mother.
And to give of yourself with nothing to show
is the worse feeling of all.

beaming down on me
with a cheesy wheel smile,
cold as ceramic tile. I'm a smoky
silhouette in a licorice sky,

tracing stars like a mad
magpie. A breezy wind is playing
hide and seek slapping pearls
of dewdrops skipping down

my cheek. Rhythmic chirping of
crickets singing leaves me
prancing in pain. Spinning my arms
around, I'm an arrow on

a weathervane. Drunk on lilac’s
flowering perfume. My head's spread
like a plume. Morning sun pops kernels
in the pan, cooking me up like a flan.

they are azure
as a cloudless sky. I float
as a balloon up high.

When I have the greens
they are dandelions
pushing out between the blades
on a day that offers no shade.

When I have the yellows
they are gold,
bright and reflective mirrors
of my soul.

to toss a match
set a forest ablaze
a moment
can break a child
without praise

A moment
to take a life
driving while drinking
a moment
to say painful things
not thinking

A moment
can make a hand into a fist
a moment
can land a punch
with a twist

A moment
can blow up this world
in a switch
a moment
to end all moments
from a glitch

is a Picasso. She paints
it with the mascara wand. Rising
at dawn to roll the tube of crimson
wax to color her lips. She dips in a brush –

not for dust. But to sweep the powered
roses on her flesh. The shadow she sees
are mint green or azure. Depends on
the day if she’ll wear less or add

more. A pencil isn't for
writing the script, She underlines
her eyes with it.

wears ties and suits
flowing skirts
and high-heeled boots

A monster
sits in swivel leather chairs
writes detailed reports
and takes the stairs

A monster
daily punches the clock
drinks their coffee
and makes small talk

A monster
smiles bright
destroying lives
sleeping sound
without contrite

A monster
doesn't live under your bed
in the closet
or in your head

in his lies
stuck just like
a trapped fly
caught in the spider’s web
strung out
on all he said

Don’t get tangled
on the rhetoric
like a deer tick
he’ll embed his head
on you
leaving you ill
like the flu

Don’t get tangled
in his arms
hell wrap you up
like a burrito
making you itch
like a mosquito

Don’t get tangled
on the baggage
he’s as dense
as a cabbage
you’ll be served cold
on the side
till you grow old
with no allies

heavy and slow
hard as rigor mortis
lagging and old
carrying it all on my back
the weight of the world
in a gunnysack

solitary as the cold wind
on the prairie
life gushes by me
friends are poison ivy

I tuck myself inside myself
and sit as a stone
as the moon, all alone
reclusive, shy, and diurnal
writing in my journal

dark and grumpy
clawed and bumpy
drinking from a puddle
head in a muddle over my past
snapping at men
as a telephoto lens

if I flew as an eagle
or swam as the dolphin
or ran as the horses
I’d be less obnoxious

the veneer. Slipping
pieces are chipping and
falling to the floor. I’ll sweep them up,
placing them in a paper cup
drinking a toast to “no more.”

I see-through
the bravado I said
once a hero. The swashbuckling
buccaneer turned to road-killed deer!

I see-through
all the holes. I’ve crawled
between the cracks I once called
love. I can’t have myself back –
the self-made glue of all I misconstrued.

I see-through
the glossy bubble. I'd trouble
for many years. But as it popped
so went my tears and all the heaviness
of airs.

If I were water
I’d vapor
as I boil
I would taper

If I were paper
I’d float
till I became
completely soaked

If I were cheese
I’d curdle
like bulging fat
stuff in a girdle

If I were wood
I’d splinter
turn to mulch
come the winter

If I were rock
I’d roll alone
be nothing more
then a rolling stone

I’m steel
strong and shiny
tough enough
to face an army

that swings by
my side. And hangs as
a cracked branch in the wind,
that hasn’t fallen off. I’ve had

men and friends as heavy, that
weighed me down as a levy. Every turn
or twist is a mangled cyst. Ever have
a match pair that doesn’t evenly

wear? If I had an ax I’d lop off
the sad timber. No point as it isn’t
limber. The stars I see aren’t shiny. No, I’d
say they’re spiny.  A hanger-oner

is like carrying an empty suitcase
with the zipper stuck in place that takes up
all my space. And the teeth of the zipper biting
into my flesh as lightning.

I’ve been carrying this torch
for far too long. I carried it when
you were broken and tired, uninspired by
the same old song. I carried it starting

in the summer of ’07 when you blew out
the candle on us. Carried it during the start of my
new job. I carried it during my cancer scare, when
you were nowhere, carried it right into the sterile

room where they inserted the long needle
for the biopsy, while I was petrified laying on
the flat, hard table. I asked for the blanket. But you
refused to even yield something that brought

comfort to me. I carried it during the
10-minute intervals when I felt like swill. I carried
it into every drunken rage against you – no more.
This time I’ll pass it on.

until she hung her head
in your flower bed. You scorched
her with the sun, then blinded her
in shade, until her petals turned

to blades. Just as her mother pulled
her from her roots to make a
colorful corsage. She wilted attached
in her arms. You plucked her from

the garden to place on
your lapel. You wore her well! But she
died when you took off the suit and
tie. Now she’s flat and faded. If you touch her

she’ll crumble. Even her thorns
have rusted into brittle mittens. She sits in
a leather-bound book, as a space saver,
page 43, in the crook of a page. She's placed

face down. The letters tattooed to her crown.

The Universe **** on Me

today. It didn’t ask if I was ready
for it. It must not have known what I was
going through. It just laid a massive dump
on my head and slithered away, smiling duplicitously

as a snake. It didn’t pick me because I was pretty
down. It wouldn’t have cared. It just picked me randomly,
out of thin air. Why couldn’t it have picked the *****
across the street, the man that  whacks off in front of

little boys,  rapists and thieves? It treated us all equal. It
didn’t matter our history or future, or what we
brought to this world or not. OK, I said, and got
a shovel. I cleared a path off, enough for me to walk
away. Enough **** for one day!

I want it, want it, want it
more than the baby wants the bottle
more than a theory to Aristotle
I need it, need it, need it
more than a heart needs to beat
more than a man needs to eat
more than Romeo needs Juliet
more than a gambler lives for his next bet
It consumes me as the plague
Makes this thought seem rather vague
It's got me, got me, got me
Will I last this day?
Is April after May?

begging for paper crumbs
and then becomes
smaller upon the feast.
This woman's a beast.

Never that girl
spreading her petals  
and then settles for less.
This woman stands for success.

Never that girl
weeping over him
climbing out on a limb.
Not ever seen.
This woman's a queen.

Never that girl
broken in pieces,
flushed down as faeces.
As the Pheonix she'll rise.
This woman's a prize.

If you give me "no"
I’ll only turn it around.
Arrange it backwards.  
Put it upside down.
Turn it on its head.
And then it won't be "no",
it'll be "on"
instead!

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

like icicles on my nose. Hanging
jagged with pointed tip, so sharp
they cut my lower lip.  They rusted
from sitting outside in a paper

cup. I held them up
to the sun. It's years since
they've run like a river
down my face. They baked

in place like the cheese
souffle. Hardened like a ball of
clay. Then cracked into lines
I pen. My ink is wet. Better it than them.

my hair. It fell
in clumps all over my
chair. I lost my sleep. I spent
last night counting sheep. I lost

the little money I had. I spent
it on every fad. I lost my looks,
lost track of time. Once I said
this world is mine. I lost my voice

from years of screaming/losing my head
from years of dreaming. I lost my nerve -
but didn't let up. Lost my friends that didn't
deserve me. Men move on. Time doesn't

stall. Even the trees lose their leaves
in fall. I lost my youth walking the hills of
old Duluth.  But I found still some room
to break new ground!

smells like rotten garbage
and gnaws at you as a rat-infested sewer
has your head dizzy as a brain tumor
enlarging until its pushing out through
when your legs are spread
for some recognition
and your head is nodding in submission
because your lines aren’t getting the attention
so you rope them in with suggestion
and at your age –
that’s **** hard!
but they eat you up
**** your scars
and if that’s what it takes
you’ll do it
you’ll do anything

is not a rose. I cannot
water it and see it
grow. I cannot pluck it and
place it in a vase/look at
its pretty face.

My heart
is not a kitten, I can
hold in my hands, stroking it,
and have it fall
asleep with a tummy full
of cream into a velvet dream.

My heart
is not the sun. But it burns
me. I cannot
absorb the warmth of a July
day or shine in the light –
my skin is thin but still
covers it in shade.

My heart
is not an apple
I can bake into a pie
and serve it up
with ice-cream on the side.

My heart
is an itch. But I cannot
scratch it. It’s broken
in pieces. But I cannot piece them
back together.  If so, I'd bead them on a string
and wear them all as charms in a bracelet
around my arms.

I dart in and out of, divided by
the painted lines. There’re the fast ones
and the slow ones, depending on the
time. Did you ever feel like you’ve been dumped

here, in the middle of a traffic jam? Do you
feel like you don’t make a difference?  I want to be
an airplane, high above it all. When I look out
my window people are ants I could squash

beneath my feet. Every step a moving street. I’ve been run
over many times. Tire tracks left these impressions.
Wonder what you would get if you connected
the lines. Maybe a constellation. I’m the unnamed star.

I’m the fingerprint
on your hand

Do your best
to rub me off
but you can’t

I’m under
your skin

every cell
every molecule
the spool

I can not be discovered.
There's evidence.
Hide them/hide them
Where?
In the cabinet
Above the refrigorator
No one will look in there.
Act cool; don't talk; you'll slurr
Everything will be a blurr
Don't stand; you'll sway
Everything will be ok

paint it
fire-engine red
taint the hail
with rounded steel
so, it knocks off a couple heads

I’d like to take the sky
rowing a boat
and if I tire
I can sit back
and see the clouds just float

I’d like to take the sky
bring it down
to the earth
so, the men and woman
that can’t reach it
are saddled with its girth

Blot

You were supposed to be
not. You were a thing to put out
her cigarette butts. A girl is an image of her
mother. Why does the world need another?

You were a reminder of everything she never
got. You were her scapegoat. You were
stupid, something to grate on her nerves.
Someone who demanded time and

attention. You were a
blot on her womanly figure. Why did
you cry? She couldn’t take anything more than
a whisper. When she cut you, you were supposed to
bear the sting. Look pretty, sit quiet – is  a girl’s thing

the size of the kitchen sink. Now I trudge
with every step instead of smoothly slink. Bending
from the weight pushing down on me I can’t see
straight. I see perpendicularly. It makes my gait

wobbly. So exhausted I can't sleep.  Every turn
I take the boulder barrels as a jeep, leaving tracks
upon my sheets. Run over by black lies and
used to bes I weep blood-soaked drops hard as

lollipops that break my teeth. The sun's a nun
that has to preach.  But this boulder only smolders
making me vexatious to reach. The landslide that is I
has blocked every street. This mountain has crumbled

at my feet. Today the streetcleaners sweep up
the rubble. How did this chip grow into a boulder? Or is
that I'm older I sunk in the debris?

Nothing Will Stop Me

There isn’t a thing you can do
to keep me from loving you.
There’s nothing you can say
that will keep me from feeling this way.

You can ignore the phone
Leave me here all alone
Block me on the internet
That hasn’t stopped me yet

There isn’t a thing you can do
to keep me from loving you.
There’s nothing you can say
that will keep me from feeling this way.

You can ignore the door
Tell me you don’t want me anymore
Never answer the mail
Baby, you’ll only fail

There isn’t a thing you can do
to keep me from loving you.
There’s nothing you can say
that will keep me from feeling this way.

Tell your friends that we’re done
Live your life on the run
You can go anywhere
But I’ll find you there

There isn’t a thing you can do
to keep me from loving you.
There’s nothing you can say
that will keep me from feeling this way.