The weather said
thunderstorms and wind. I
wasn't going to stand outside
soaked to the skin.

I wasn’t going to go.
I felt languorous. I dreamt of
slouching on my couch vacantly
staring at my laptop cross.

I wasn’t going to go.
I have a penchant for alcoholic
drinks. And the Crème de Menthe
and chocolate liquor felt like splendor
when the world outside ate all the cherries
spitting out the pits.

I wasn’t going to go
but for the fervor of him
I did. And I danced in the rain –
not at all cross. And I
went home and didn’t have a
drink. And the world is splendiferous
after I saw his shining face.

putting you on a pedestal
wearing rose-colored glasses
as you rise like a phoenix
from my ashes

I feel stupid
wasting all the years
counting all my tears like a peddler
counts his wares
but couldn’t count on you

I feel stupid
throwing myself at you
making myself crawl
flatten as a paper doll that can’t lift off
the page

I feel stupid
exiguous as a rubber check
a speck on the gilded bed
spread out as eagle wings
clinging as hardened stool
a dusty mule

I feel stupid
sawed off at the knees
fallen as a tree
you holding the axe
I shall not splinter
I'll build a house up from this timber

in the subway home tonight. This is much
more fascinating than your newspaper. There's the frontpage,
in bold Italics, pointy as the girl's long *******. It'll make
you sway. Hope you're not standing! The weather is a bit

chilly. Says so on the weather page. Tonight there's
going to be a bone frost.  Check out the
obituaries. Something's dying. But they didn't mark
the place or the time. The tv page says the drama on

the next window frame will hollow out
the train. Hope your stop is sooner than later. Don't forget
to tuck it under your arm. You won't have time to fold
it neatly and place it inside the black leather.

in the morning
in a smile
across the table
while he looks at me.
It makes me stable
in a topsy-turvy world,
I’m his girl.

Sugar is sweet
in the afternoon.
I don’t have to have
a pale moon for romance.
He and I can slow-dance
in the sun -
Not wait
till day is done.

Sugar is sweet
in evening.
A kiss is sweeter
than a cake.
A sloppy kiss
doesn’t leave crumbs!
He can sweep me up,
not the floor.
Bring me to the boudoir.

I laid my mattress in
the living-room. And camped out
every day with the shades pulled
down to block out the light

from outside. I ate and ate until
my weight was one-hundred and
seventy-five. I had just miscarried my
baby girl. Her name would have been

Sarah if she came into this world. But
she never made it to her May birthday –
She was taken in a very sober October
when the colors of the leaves shined against

my pale face and barren waist. We died
the same way, taken before we could
consummate, like I did with Jim. And after we had
our fling he died too. Then I turned full-on to

the bottle. My son never made it home
from the hospital. It was too much to bear on anyone –
and this old woman is no longer young. But still
depressed, spending her time in a cold basement

video-taping ******* – *******, ***
and ***** for money. Her poems are just as her
baby girl, son and Jim –
all brain dead. No light has been shed on a one –
if it doesn’t involve a **** or tongue

A touch can go beyond the walls of skin.
I'm not lying.
I feel ya inside of me, my heart, my head, my body
I ain't trying
to fool you with some clever line, phrase or word.
I'm just crying
my eyes out to be heard.

till I looked behind me
that the sun is blinding
a fly lit up my path
the streams all had a laugh

I didn’t know
till I stopped
the sunflower’s head
is cropped
the sky is grey as Bristol
his words are liquid crystal

I didn't know
till I listened
the ground is christened
with every step he takes
made this chest concave

I didn’t know
till I turned the corner
I’m a foreigner

any better than I know the raven
from the lark. I thought I knew the day once,
before it turned dark. And then it was called something else,
separate from itself. Sometimes it was a gangster

from an old movie, or one you read about. Sometimes
it was a prankster who turned into a lout. They try
to be the superhero until their clothes come off. They
want to get their name on the marquee studded with ginseng
and marlin. Though some fall short with trout. They take

pictures. So, I know they work out. Their biceps have
their own address. But my guess is it’s on a residential street
in a gated community. They’ll end up in a Doonesbury comic
book I’ll read and likely write about. And I can’t say

I know you any better than I know them. But the mystery
is such a tease, like pulling tangles out of my hair. It’s easier when
its wet than when its dry. Though I’ve worked with both. I joke it
down with a glass of wry and a twist of rue when I’m the mood,
a heartfelt pinch of cayenne. OK. Enough. Goodbye.

makes or breaks you
your life depends on people liking you
and people are fickle
but if they don’t buy you
you have nothing
you live your life
on a shoestring
and it’s getting shorter
you have nothing in order
no savings account
let alone retirement
no vacation money
and yet you write
because you must
and when people ask you why
you haven’t a reason to tell them
except that it’s your unrequited love
that breaks your heart
and gets you out of bed
every morning to tell them
the heartache that this has cost you
you’ve never been a 9 to 5 gal
you couldn’t fit into that world
but you aren’t considered in this one either
so, where does that leave you -
in neither

turning from bright green
to red hot fire burns. They detach
as a chick hatched breaking
from the shell. Swirling

in the swell. Then they fly off
in a scoff, running rivers and jumping
rocks. Leaving me with sentimental twigs
that I hasten in every swig.

in my shoe. I can’t shake
loose. I’ll have to stop. Take
the shoe off. Shake it to release
this flint that’s a tease. It’s as

fleas on a dog. Or a sneeze and
a cough I can’t let up. It’s the
tickle that’s fickle! In a blow
or a hack I’d have it off

my back. But I reach for
my stash than drop
the rock. It began as a pebble –
that turned me a rebel. The callouses

I bear from leaving it!

crystal lavender tears
that melt as dewdrops
in honeysuckle fields. They’ve
cried them for years.

Buterflies cry
a kaleidoscope of colors
in patterns of green, blue, red
purple and yellow. They've cried
them over every gal and fellow.

Butterflies cry
in flits of beaming light
that dance in the shadows
of shimmering moonlight. They've cried them
all night.


Butterflies cry
all by themselves, spreading
their wings to cover their felt. Their tears stick
like glitter to all that they touch.

Butterfies cry not often but much.

as the swan
not regal
as the eagle
not colorful
as the macaw
or as mellifluous
as the nightingale

stout body
on a bobbing heads
short legs
strutting about
plumage grey

strong and swift
as a hickory stick
awarded a medal
for serving in the air force
carrying messages
back and forth
in both world wars

Pigeons are hors concours!

and die. I did not reply. You’re
a *****. And I’m a singer. People
like you ruin it for people like me. How,
I just do karaoke. You have to take

down all the videos or a price
you'll pay for those. People dropping like
flies as I subside. So now I’ve myself
an OnlyFans page.  I’m making

less than minimum wage. And Europe
closed all the borders. That's in stock for
Trump supporters! So, my relaxing holiday
has taken a nose-dive. But tonight, I'll show signs
of acting drunk again. Drinking has turned into
my new religion.

Put it out there
Like hard, dark ***
Put it out there
Some will come

Put it out there
Like chicken basted
Put it out there
They will taste it

Put it out there
For all to see
Put it out there
Some will flee

Put it out there
Anyway
Put it out there
Some will stay

brush it aside,
like a strand of golden hair,
hanging as pleaded panel
curtains covering her

eyes. She'll face it head on,
square. She’ll not allow it
to sit, like dust coating the
furniture. She'll give it

a swift kick, let it fall
like a ton of bricks. She'll not
let it blow, like smoke from frying
steak in the pan in her kitchen,

out the window, in a black
colored band. She’ll not lock it
in the closet with all her
skeletons. She’ll mix it

up with the gelatin. Blood
orange and mint. Plate it
for dessert. Wash it down with
gin and tonic, all this hurt.

Torpidity

gives me permission to let go
of the things I don’t want to hold
onto. Indolence is my friend. He tells me
what to put down. Bury a  dead horse. It will

fertilize the ground. Don’t follow
lethargy. Give him space; he’s untidy. He
doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’s only
going through the motions.

where you could eat the walls. The roof
was made of royal icing. It dried on thick and
hard. And the tiles were sugar-coated gumdrops
that the birds pecked off before the fall. Candy

canes for doorways you could lick. But they’d stick
to your lips. And after that you couldn’t get
your mouth open a crack. It looked to all outside
a very pleasant place to reside. But no one knew

it was a cathouse, and that the field marshal
was a master of disguise who drew the curtains
over her candy-shop of horrors. And welted our bottoms
with hot molasses stuck to a long wooden spoon. Some

where even jealous of me. They thought I had chocolate
pudding drawn for my bath. And that my bed was made
in lemon meringue. I wouldn’t tell them the truth. I didn’t
want to break the spell they were under. Everyone needs to
believe in something.

bend me
to their will
but I’ll snap back. Not
allowing them to fill
my head with flack.

They can
sting me
with their tongues. But
they’ll die as the stingers
fall. Words to me
have no weight
at all!

They can
throw me
to the wolves. But I’ll dance
in the sun/warble in the forest.
I kick up my heels when
I’m the sorest.

I’d give you flowering cherry
blossoms, dancing diamond lakes
and baby robins. I’d give you cornflower
skies and warm apple pie.

If I could give you a day
I’d give you honey meadows and
singing larks, stardust kisses
in the dark. I’d give you bubbling streams
and waterfalls. But that’s not all….

If I could give you a day
I'd make it a novel one, as a baby first screams
as she thrusts out her lungs, pushing out
into this world fast as a shotgun.

If I could give you a day
I’d give you today wrapped up
in silk and bows. That's all I have. I put
yesterday out with the trash. I took all I
could of it/recycled the memories that served
me/ let go of the ones that burned me.

that once was soft. But now
is spined. Her back is lined
with spiky quills. Every barb that
jabs her is a place a man has

stabbed her. A living pincushion
that when rolled over holds herself up
by the skewers. Now water passes
through her. She doesn't get wet. But she’ll

stick to you if you touch her. And you'll
bleed a gusher for the softness. From the thorns
she's built a fortress.

like the hole in her
pantyhose in rungs from her
thigh to her ankle. As the rest
of her, so mangled. Like on

fumes when the gas gauge
is down. Like her nose when a cold
goes around. Like a clock on batteries
she loses time. And as river, it's a

downhill climb. Like sweat on her thin
soft nape, or maple syrup on a stacked
plate of crepes. But as wild horses
she gallops to sea. Her honey long

hair flying in the breeze. From men,
women and jobs to woods, robins and
frogs. Like a crab on the beach she's
a hermit. If you ask her, she'll confirm it.

If I couldn't walk
would you be my cane?
If I couldn't think
would you be my brain?

If I couldn't talk
would you be my tongue?
If I couldn't breathe
would you be my lung?

If I couldn't see
would you be my eyes?
If I fall down
would you help me rise?

If I get lonely
would you be by my side?
If I lose my way
would you be my guide?

If I get sick
would you comfort me?
If I'm locked up
would you be my key?

If I lose someone
would you help me grieve?
If I lost hope
would you help me believe?

If I get riled
would you calm me down?
If I get sad
would you be my clown?

I need you more
than I’d dare say.
If I asked you
would you promise to stay?

I’m not the accumulation
of all your hurts
you can’t blame this snowflake
on the blizzard
you can’t call it a dinosaur
if it isn’t
if it’s in a pet store
it’s a lizard
go ahead and rip out
my gizzards
but you’ll never convince me
that I’m the bane
of your insane life
if it isn’t
you held yourself back
in your own prison

as the crumbled leaves
after they loosen from
the autumn trees. They melt
into the earth. In the spring
bud's bloom. And June brides’ waltz
down the aisles.

When it's over let it lie
as a snowflake on your face. It'll dissolve.
And you won't feel the cold cling. The robin
sings again my friend, at winter's end.

When it's over let it lie
as the April showers
making a puddle for the blue jay
to splash in. As the golden sun winks at you
she'll sip the puddle through a paper
straw. And your feet won't get wet as you
step lively down the street. You'll cross
the rainbow bridge that rose from the brokenness
you burned. But don't look back as you turn.

When it's over let it lie
as the cockles in July on a sandy
beach. Don't reach out
to yesterday. Don't get swept up
in the wind of an old fling.

dark
it is light in another place.
Snowflakes melt on my head.
In another spot the sunbeams
bob like a sled.
Far as a distant star

Where there is
weeping
people are smiling rainbows
and dancing on unicorns
in my neighbor's yard.
My grass is honey-mustard,
burnt as custard.
Only high fences
between us
and locked screens.
Still, I see their
full lawn of forest green.

Where there are
starving men and woman
people are filling their faces
with caviar -
two-hundred dollars a jar
traveling to Monaco
in their polished, furnished yachts  
while I'm throwing dice
playing Yahtzee.
This world we live in
is crazy.

salted with crimson tears
that rolled so low
their feet stuck to my hair

turning black
from ear to ear
I’ll not have back
this lost year

Now I caw
from dusk till dawn
this has gnawed
the man I spawned

thinner than a wafer
I’ve not felt safer
since the incident
I'm bent as a crowbar
and just as hard

You Were Callous

when she went for her second
breast biopsy. You said she’d already been
through it. Blew if off like it was just
another runny nose. She was scared and

shaking. So heartbreaking to have
the man that she loved treat her with such
contempt when she needed him
the most. That was the point of the

breaking. That was when she rushed off
to the board. Maybe it was cold calculating. But after
she was treated that way she didn’t care. All
that went before that faded to black. Seven months

later your own wife needed a biopsy - it came back
cancerous. Wasn’t she there to deliver the
basket of fresh fruit and chocolate, the warm greeting
card and a loaf of fresh blueberry bread.

to the end
the women I called friends
after the spilled perfume
they left the room

the men
I said looked out for me
as my shadow
were soft as Brie

They didn’t make it
to the middle
to them, I'm an image
the bonbon
that is spinach

They didn't make it
to a beginning
they judged this tree
from the splinters
they couldn't make it
past the winter

and I’m stranded like
a beach whale
getting all this propaganda
in my messages
looking like Tony Olanda
without dawn
saying to myself –
the **** is going on
with this world?

Get me on a plane outta here
where they don’t
talk politics
just drink beer
where I can go skinny dipping
have fun
no martial law
and men don’t carry guns

over the mountains
into the sea. Some men
are broken in quarters
and halves. I’m smashed

like a bat swung
to glass. Shattered to
smithereens. My pieces
are pasted in ***** men's

dreams. The little fragments
reflect light if I hold them
at an angle just right. Some
take off like fireflies, shining

in the night sky. All this dross
like dust in the air made it
by seeds I planted with flare. Every
piece broken off grew from the loss

into a garden bed. Flowered
from the toss and rooted with
spares.

by the wind
sending whispers
under my dress
standing *****
the hairs on my skin

I wish I was untouched
by the needle’s eye
I can walk through now
that I'm not sewn blind

I wish I was untouched
by the grains of sand
the pendulum swinging
the two moving hands

I wish I was untouched
by the papers, I’ve seen
in the darkroom
how the red light burned
how they’re turned in the trays
hung by a clothespins
put on display

I cut out pieces of myself to fit in.
I wasn’t me; I was someone else’s twin.
I was a duplicate ran through the copier.
Looking as the rest, maybe a little sloppier.

I didn’t know who I was anymore.
I wasn’t sure who I was doing this for.
I wanted to be me, whoever that was.
I wanted to fit in for no reason, just because.

I wanted to be loved, but at what cost?
Those pieces I cut out got tossed.
I looked in the mirror and what did I see?
An abbreviated version of what used to be me.

to the kaleidoscope girl, Lucy
in the sky with diamonds
with the pearl tooth smile?
The long and winding road
she traveled mile after mile?

What happened
to the stars in her emerald eyes
dancing night fever moonbeams?
Where did her softness lie?
Her head full of dreams?

What happened
to her freebird skip?
What happened to her spring?
What happened to the silly love songs
she used to sing?

What happened
to long summer breeze days?
Where is the crystal ship
with its pills and thrills
stripped into the blaze?

than the Mad Hatter. And the March
Hare points me to my unbirthday. So,
I say “if I’m not birthed on this earth” What
am I?  A cup of flavored hot water

called tea? A sweet mixture of flour and sugar
that's baked? Call me a cake with icing! I don't like vanishing
from a bite or a swallow.  I can whistle as a teapot
without making myself hot. And I can dish it out

without them calling me dessert. A squirt or
a lick? My colors bleed on a napkin? Crumbs that fall
on their laps? Or a hatpin that holds yellow hair? Ask
the March Hare. I'll age as wine shining down

the holes I've fallen in. Growing taller than
this town I’m in.

as the petals fell from a blushing
blooming rose. Worn like a pair
of pantyhose. Now I’ve rips and
holes. Stretched as he fetched for

his revolving door. Waxing his
ego. Tallying the score. Feeding his
libido with a silver spoon, as if we're in
a cartoon. Bathed in this infection

he cloaks as an *******. The sickness
hasn’t left me. Still fluttering like a  
honeybee. I tell myself I'm strong. But
I'm wrong. I’m torn. Like an axe to

the tree. I’m split into three.

There’s never enough money
The kids need this and that
The baby’s nose is runny
The tire got a flat
There’s a friend’s funeral to attend
Another’s in a crisis
You can’t believe how much you spend
weekly on the groceries

Your hair is getting thinner
Your waist thicker
You get heartburn from the dinner
You can’t hold your liquor
The years are flying by real fast
while you’re moving slower
They don’t build things to last
any longer

stands in her way
she can’t afford to pay
this outrageous price
to make nice the lives of
these therapists
who sit in the chair half-asleep
deep in thought about something else
not paying attention
to the hurt she’s projecting
and the heavy drinking that nulls
those raging voices
inside her skull
beneath the puffed-up bozo hair
and heavy makeup and flair
is a very lonely woman
whose health insurance doesn’t cover
the cost of mental health
the system’s flawed
as much as its shrinks
it stinks
and to stop this pain
all she does is drink
nips for 99 cents
is cheaper
than any prescription
and helps with
this affliction
until –
there’s a better health care system

what would you call me? If I wasn’t attached
to a person, as a daughter, wife, mother or friend
you couldn’t say this is so and so’s daughter, wife,
mother or friend. What if I didn’t have a job or

a hobby? You couldn’t say she does this
or that. What if I didn’t even have an address? You
couldn’t say she lives there. All of the spaces would
be blank, because there wouldn’t be anything to fill

them in with. People would wonder about
such a person like this, unhitched and uncoupled. Would I
still exist? I would still have my thoughts; I would still have
my brain. I would still be me, the same.

You packed your bags
your running shorts
and kayak
reading books
t-shirts and sneakers
took off
left me here
like the mail
that comes each day
when you’re away
to sit
and wait
accumulate
like my emotions
that you’ll
attend
after
your vacation

climbing up a pole,
trying so hard to attach,
for my tentacles to latch on,
like a babe. So, I can grow up

and be strong. But spiraling
around a splintered post cut
my green curls, like swirls of
hair falling from the barber's

chair. If I was a sunflower I'd have
the power to ride the sky. My golden
petals waving hi. But I'm a tendril, a thin
piece of thread without a back or

head. A crisp snap of dry leaves,
a wisp of smoke billowing in the breeze. If I
was a rose I'd be wrapped in evergreen
boughs, bloom as the sun and the robin rouse.

ball. And his voice
the paddle. He kept whacking
the celluloid globe to the tune
"man on the moon" I skedaddled

as a deer crossing the road
seeing a truck marked "oversize overload"
His notes ricocheted on my forehead
as a concert hall of "the living dead" My eyes

fell out of their sockets as pennies
rolling from my ripped jean pockets. I put my
hand inside to find the lining unravelling to
"man on the moon"

I got pennies in my pocket
That’s all of my change
Inside of a heart shaped locket
A man that looks strange

I got nothing in my fridge
One last bottle of beer
And I don’t care a smidge
If I get out of here

I collect bruises like trophies
They all line my shelf
Got a quilt of my nana Sophie’s
Yes, I talk to myself

I’m not what you call intellectual
I don’t give a ****
Most of my words are ineffectual
Love me as I am

People like to play with fire
but don’t want to get burned

People like to talk
but don’t want to listen

People usually say
the opposite of what they mean

People like to leave their opinion
but don’t want yours

People are a strange sort

If you don’t plant them
they won’t grow. If you don’t
water them day to day they’ll
never break ground. If you

don’t shine your loving light
on them they’ll descent into
the shadows. You won’t see
them taking root. Just feed them

truth. I have a garden of
dreams. I planted late. So, I
must be patient as they slowly
develop. Give them plenty of

room and not get jealous minding
someone else’s garden. Let me attend
to my own weeds. And watch as
happiness is spread as fertilizer on my bed.

Karma is a Spider

A Spider that spins cotton candy gets stuck in
her own sticky web. The squirrel that hoarded all the nuts
in autumn soon forgets where he buried them when the ground
is covered by winter’s white blanket. A sheep that turns his back

on his own flock gets lost in the woods and runs into
a wolf that’s up to mischief. They never did find the wandering sheep who was eaten up by his own freedom. But they saw
a smiling wolf, looking content as usual the next

morning. Karma is a spider caught in her own web. It’s a
hoarding squirrel that soon forgets when the ground looks different. It’s an unscrupulous sheep that meets his end by something more undaunted and cunning than him.

I give my all.
No less.
But my all
is far from best.

I take nothing.
No more!
Because nothing
is near the worst
of practicalities.
That is my reality.

when thoughts no longer sung
If time were but a prelude
I’d say the prelude done

Distance is a gated community
And every path toward it
gives no man immunity

is like the moon
swallowed the sun
for breakfast. And the
crest of the mountain
was a zit. And I popped
it with my fingertip.

A day without you
is like all the colors
bled into a basin. And I
was chasing them down
until I drowned.

A day without you
is like all the flowers
wilted. And their petals
fell. And my head was stuck
in a bell that was ringing,
until I was swinging
like a carousel.

A day without you
is like a kite
tangled in a tree. A boy
pulls the string. But the spine
snaps in half. And the tail *****
in the breeze.

in December? Naked and
bare. No colors at all. Stripped of
everything. No one making their home
on your branches. No one climbing
your trunk. Cutting you into logs
to warm their ranches?

Do you want to be the trees
in June? Green! Green! Green! With
babies chirping away. Providing shade
on a lazy day?

Do you want to be the trees
in October in bright, bold colors? A
work of art, raining orange, red,
and gold. Creating a delicate quilt
that unfolds?