If there’s a chance
I’ve got to take it.
No romance
is going to break it.
In the end
I’m going make it.
If I believe, If believe
I Believe

Nobody’s words
are going to hurt me.
They're all are nerds,
who desert me.
Let it go
Let it go
Let it go

If there’s a chance
I’ve got to take it.
No romance
is going to break it.
In the end
I’m going make it.
If I believe, If believe
I Believe

If I fall
I’ll get up
Give it my all
Never give up
Rise above
Rise above
Rise above

like a child believes
in Santa Claus
and Freud in his
smoked cigars. I believed

in him like the sunrise
every morning, the dawning
of a new day. I felt not a thing
would lure him away. But I crumbled

like a stale cookie in his hands. And
my pieces all landed at his feet. In a fell
sweep, he swept them out the door. Robin
redbreast ate the crumbs. I believed. And now

I’m numb.

as the moon
believes the sun
rises over the horizon.
The dewdrops
pearls of honey,
flopping ears of
the holiday bunny.
The fall leaves turning
golden and crimson.
My head swims in
this reverie
of make-believe.

I believed in you
so, I followed
as a shadow,
with the precision
of an arrow.
I was sticking to you
as marrow,
till you plucked my strings
cutting my wings.

I believed in you
as summer
believes in autumn,
till you pushed me
to the bottom.
I’ve yet to spring back.
This winter was frozen dark
like black ice.
I fell-
not once
but twice.

I bled in red
when I
entered the world
with the umbilical cord
wrapped around my neck.

I bled in red
when she
clawed me with her
long red nails. Screeching
was I, as if they were scraped
along a blackboard, shaking
and disturbed.

I bled in red
as all girls do
when womanhood enters
their innocent bodies,
leaving them ripe
as cherries, for the pickings
and the lickings.

I bled in red
from those lickings,
in raised welts
that were sticking
hot as melted wax
to my derriere.

I bled in red
when my cherry was popped
as a cork, coming off.
But leaving
fragments of what was behind
floating in the brine.

I bled in red,
when my sons
entered this world.
It was beautiful.

because I am not substantial
as an earthling.

Where I break
the light shines.

Souls unite –
through the cracks of sin.

I transcend
into more than bone and skin.

Something beautiful is created
when into it enters the light.

into pieces. Every man
that held the chisel chipped
a little. A speck, a flake; it’s
snowing cake. A forest of crumbs
lies on my rug.

Day Breaks
too. The sun cracks open
as an egg on the morning
dew. My head is scrambled. My face,
toast. It’s raining in my kitchen. I can’t
stay afloat.

Waves break
on rocks. You run a ground,
bound to sink. In a blink your life
flashes as lightening. Tightening your grip,
only to slip into the abyss.

the day
as a Diamond Core
cutting the cement floor. Pieces
as scattered as my head, strung
together the beads of lead.

I break up
with men.
I shuffle them
as playing cards. I turn out
the jokers as a hand of poker. They're
my wild cards.

I break up
laughing.
Shy of gaffing
the prize. They just don't
buy my guise!

I break up
the eggs.
Scramble them
as my brain. The eggs
are soft. I am not.

with my wings stuck
to the sides. As I pulled them
apart they tore. So, I hung
in the air upside-down and swung

as a bat with my face
to the ground. But I couldn’t
fly. Twisted and folded onto myself
my reds and purples looked

tie-dyed more than anything
else. If I couldn't fly I'd sing. So
I popped off the top twittering. I'd
twitter in the morning as the sun

rose marmalade on a piece
of French toast. I twittered at noon
as the steam from the pavement filled
my trachea like a hot-air balloon. And I

twittered in the evening with
my friend the moon. And soon the twittering
made me rise. As leaven in the dough  
I rose up high. And with torn wings, now I fly.

wherever I go. They're high
as a mountain covered in
snow. They're deep as a valley
and swim around my head. They're

under my covers and rotate my
bed. They squeeze me tight like
a Charley horse, pushing me back
with all their g-force. I bump into them

stone cold sober, raking them up
like leaves in October. They're thick as
a French accent. And hasn't been one
I can circumvent!

so, I can walk to the other side
without turning around
to the old sound of the calls
and cries. I burnt it down to the

ground so I'd grow wings to fly beyond
the years that strung my tears with plated
gold and lies. I burned it slowly over *****
and lime. Some days I'd patch it

with memories that didn't rhyme. Then I'd
gussy it up with smiles and mush till it
stuck me like a porcupine. I'd carry
a water bottle with the pain. Drink from it,

then refill with rain. Some days I'd run
toward the flame like a high-speed train,
burning myself again and again.
My pen my wand/my cry my song
in ashes of auld lang syne in every page and line.

like a pack of howling wolves,
with their heads pointing to the
moon. But you lied back flat like
a porcelain plate against a midnight sky

of spate. Your prickly shadow hung
down on me. I called to you my twin,
moaning like the wind wrapped around
the evergreens. You slipped through

like a breeze. And expelled
me in a sneeze. I called you in
a Midwest phone booth. It was like
pulling a tooth loose to get you to

answer. You spread contempt
just like a cancer. I speak to you now,
without paragon or violence, without
face or guidance, in silence.

to him
like echoes my screams
bouncing back to me
in painted sound
that shook the ground
I stood standing
and touched down
as an airplane landing
in a storm of turbulence
skidding off the runway
of his indifference

I call out
over the wire
holding my breath
placing my head next to the cell
pulling my hair back
to hear the recording, I knew well
after the beep I weep
hummingbirds flittering
like meat in the stew, I sit in it
a simmering shrew

I call out
to an empty room
the walls have ears
but don't hear me
as silence looms like fog
filling a swamp
and like peat on the bog
I sink in the romp

my fingers and toes. I can
count on tomorrow coming and
going, even without knowing
what will become. I can count on

the sun rising in the morning and
setting in the evening. I can count
on the changes that come with the
seasons. I can count on death taking

us away. But where it will take us
I cannot say. I can count on the tide
rising and falling, the stars in the sky,
the nightingale calling. I can count on

babies being born, suckling their
mother’s breast, and the robin in spring
preparing her nest. I can count on
snow giving me a chill, and the smell of

steak when its cooking outside
on the grill. After all this time
I thought I could count on myself –
but found I could not.

anywhere in my mind. You want to
come too? You want to go with me
where we’ll leave this hum-drum drudge
behind. You want to explore places others couldn’t

because their imaginations wouldn’t
let them enter anything unthinkable. Call
it bold. Call it crazy. But I love it when I close
my eyes and lose my mind on the discord. I turn it

into music. ****** it and **** it. Ponder it
and **** down with briny tears and the yesteryear's
that I didn’t dare to go. Because they told me
not to.  Because they made me stop. ***** them all

now and what they said. The seeds
they planted in my head have sprung a leak. And
with the flood I find the words to speak. I’m swimming
in this crystal kaleidoscope of hues. Come with me

enter in what the snots call hazardous. When their
mouths make a **** we’ll show them what
real ***** is. It’s all in the lips. Now come give me
a wet kiss.

to the big house, with gables
and the long tar driveway
with fray chestnut shingles
when I'd mingle with them,

when the door was ajar,
and I drove a cranberry red
four sedan car. I cannot rewind
the clock to afternoons filled

with laughs and talk, ***** jokes
and schemes. Dreams broke off
like branches taken by the
wind. This old body is wrinkled

and thinned. Some turned
to dust. Some like fallen leaves
turned rust. I, myself drink those
summers like a bottle of wine

when the sky was cornflower. We
had time to make all those plans,
that fell through like sand on a sieve,
the ones we cannot, no never relive.

or move forward. I'm growing
older, shedding like the old oak trees
in winter. I'm a piece of cinder
after the fire, a lumpy grey

coal that's tired. I've worked hard
for my fifteen minutes of fame. I've
watched and waited. But it never
came. I threw myself into it,

painting it black and red. I rose before
the sun and clung to it in bed. I fed
it every day and walked it like
a dog. I slogged away my after

noons.  I pruned and watered and
stood over it. I cannot take back
the years or divide them in halves.
If so, what do I have?

a drop out of him. Like toothpaste
in a tube sticking to the sides
like glue. Cannot be pushed out,
even if rolled up like rug. Like my snug

denim jeans cannot be held
together. The zipper sticks to my rolling
belly, wobbling like a bowl of strawberry
jelly. Like the gunk I squeeze out of

my red, hard pimple. If I can squeeze
the truth out of him, if it was that
simple! Like a baby pushing through
my birth canal. I bear down tight with such

morale. But his head's too big to
pass. If it was easy like breaking
gas!  I'll not get it out of him. It's attached
just like his limb.

I need your help. I’ve tried it
on my own, only to realize I need
someone else. It doesn’t make me
weak to ask. It makes me

wise to understand that in the
beginning I need somebody’s
hand. A baby leans on things when
they’re learning to walk. So, does

an elderly person who’s spent
a lifetime on their feet. No one thinks
twice about this. It’s just the way that
we exist.

of hollow bodies with no souls
heartless men in mocked-up roles
It’s hard to take a cleansing breath
the fact of this life's death
of war, surfeit, and poverty
sickness and countries under seize
polluted beaches and acid rain
every day is filled with pain
closed minds and deaf ears
blind eyes and lost tears
hands clenched in rageful fists
drug dealers and slashed wrists
underage *** and violence
cut my tongue
have me silenced
but I can't face another day
swimming in this sea of pain

your pockets
I haven’t any money
I can’t fill
your desires
I’ve got my own
I can’t fill
your wishes
I’m not a genie
I can’t fill
your shoes
I didn’t go to school
But I can fill
your heart with love
so that you’ll never want
for anything more
because love has a way
of filling in everything

of my head.
This reverie sticks to me
as the sweaty sheets
in my bed. Wrapping around
me as a burrito, clinging to me
as a beach ***'s speedo.

I can't get him out
the door.
He's blended into
the furniture. He's woven
in the tapestry. We're packed
together like bananas
in a banana tree.

I can’t get him out
of my heart.
My blood’s shaken up
as cream churning
into butter. The reds
solidify and make
my heart flutter.

of yesterday. It’s stuck in
the plasterboards and sung
as a lost chord. I rehearse every line
at night when I can’t sleep. I can’t turn
down the volume to the sick beat.

I can’t get my head out
of the billowing clouds. I wear
my pain as a shroud. I weep
lightning rods the size of stallions. But
it's shrunk my brain down to a bulb
of a scallion.

I can’t get my head out
of the front door. It’s swelled the size
of a piano. None can know that feeding it
every day has made it grow.

any more than the leaves
in autumn. As they turn gold
crimson and orange they break off
from the tree and fall.

I can’t hold on
any more than the emerging
butterfly from the safety of
the chrysalis. My budding wings
have spurred me to fly. If I hold on
I'll only die.

I can't hold on
any more than a snake shedding
his old skin. No longer can it stretch
to fit this body. It's thin and worn. And I
can't grow under a cloak with holes. It’d rot
the fibers of my soul.

I give it to you.
It’s raw and sore.
It’s natural.
It’s staged.
It’s strange.
I can’t explain.
It’s something I must do.
It’s nothing without you.

with reason. Reason says
one thing. But I say another. I’m
like a child. And reason is my
mother. You can give me

all the reason to support your
claim. It’s sound I know. But knowing
isn’t half the game. What does logic
satisfy?  Without logic then a fool

is I. So, I be a fool. And I know this
is true that people can reason until
their deaf, dumb and blind. But people
will do as they do and pay no mind!

I’ve walked past his words
as they’re all I’ve heard. And the echoes
of them bounce off my wall
like a ping-pong ball.

I can’t say
I’ve forgiven him. I carry
this as a turtle carries
their shell. But it doesn’t protect
me. Can't you tell?

I can’t say
I’ve moved forward. I’m a pawn
on the chess table. A piece is able
to knock me off.

I can’t say
I’m holding up. I’m a paper
cup. I'm soggy. I can’t
wash the blues. Pulled from a stack –
not made to last. I lose.

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.

the bratty blonde boy with glasses in
the library beating up on his older sister,
while the ******* mother watches. How can
I try to get this book complete by next week

when I realize this is how men grow up
to abuse woman, because they are never
taught different. He wines and races across
the bookshelves while everyone else

looks on but pretends not to notice
the distraction. I gave his old lady a glare
that would have her straight hair curl like a strip
of paper scraped with the edge of a scissors. Well

the ******* brat’s back at the computer, after
he pushed his sister and slapped her. So, she
never got to take a turn. The ignorance in this
mother burns me deeply. Might as well write about it.

any more than I can
the rain when I see how
the flowers bloom through the picture
window off my bedroom. The grudge
is dropped just as the pigeons
do their **** on my car
windshield. I just mop it off
with a cloth and exhale.

I can’t stay angry at him
any more than I can
my bathroom scale in
the morning. I know it gets
stuck on the high notes. And if I
didn’t have that champagne toast
last night over my new poem
being published it might have been
a few decimals less is my guess.

I can’t stay angry at him
any more than I can
the stuck-on eggs in my frying pan
when I ran out the kitchen. I didn’t
keep my eyes on them. I will promise
to keep my eyes open the next time
and not run out –
on him or the eggs.
Maybe I’ll just make pancakes!

your pain. But I can hold you
when it’s wrapped around you so tight
that it’s choking the life out of you. I can
give you a fresh breath, new perspective

that maybe you could use. Even if
I can’t do anything, and you find me a useless
******* I can still be there to

shield your screams. Don’t you ever pretend
in front of me. You can break completely
in my arms. I’ll hold the pieces even if I get
cut myself. If you let me help.

not to worry.
Can you tell a flurry
of snow to stop
falling from the
crystal clouds?

I can’t tell her
not to drink.
Can you tell
the black ink
not to ******
into the deep blue
after said octopus
has ejected it?

I can’t tell her
not to pine over him.
Can you tell Napa Valley
not to make wine or
bottle it? It’s bottled up
in her. She’s labeled
and preserved.

to hit the stores. I haven’t
touched cotton or silk, denim or

lace. I haven’t bought in ages
pants or a jacket. I haven’t felt silver

or gold, bangles, or pearls. Retailers
been told to close. My feet are tired

in last year’s sandals and flip-flops. I can’t
wait to shop! It’s too long since

I slipped a dress on. All my stuff is old and
used. I can’t wait to buy brand new!

why he says I’m like Bukowski
and yet nobody wants my lines. But
they’re just as rough as his –
and look how famous he is! Yes

I say that as if he were still alive. But why
I am a poet is to stay immortal because
I fear to die.

I can’t wrap my head around
why at fifty-four I’ve started doing **** –
And for the life of me I just don’t get
why men like sagging *** and breast!

I can’t wrap my head around
that I’m still married to the same
Bloke, even though I cheated
on him over and again. I took my lover
and his wife out to dinner with my
husband. The unsuspecting partied didn’t
know until they got there.

I can’t wrap my head around
the fact that I’ve been going to the same
therapist for Fifteen years for free and I’m
more ****** up than when I started therapy!

I can however wrap my hand around
A bottle of wine, a hard ****, a martini –

Anytime!

myself
with me
as I go
in the same shoes
though they’ve
grown larger
through the years
are miry
and full of tears

I carry
my pain
deep inside my chest
my chest concaved
and that shaved years off
my life

I carry
the past
in an hourglass
looking at the grains of sand fall
slow on the days I’m restless
faster on the days, with you
till I shattered the glass
and all the grains spewed

I carry
the weight
of this world
upon my back
like a gunny sack
filled with rocks
and obnoxious things
on such a petite frame
till I cut the strings

in my pocket. I wear it
as a locket on days when I’m
down. And even when it
is hidden I can tell that it’s still

sound. I carry it
to breakfast. It floats in my morning
coffee, sweeter than the sugar
and cream. Brighter than the sun’s

early beam. It lights up my bathroom
mirror. Dissipates the fog
on the glass making it clearer. Filling
up every room like a bottle of Channel

perfume. I carry it out of the house,
driving the car and walking the cobblestone
streets. If I dazzle you, it's not me! It's
his smile in the billowing breeze.

inside my head.
Rising like of a loaf of bread,
blueish grey and soft as lead.
I'm a bobble doll
whose head's about to fall.

I carry it all
on my shoulder,
heavy as a boulder.
This year is making me older.
The weight of it
hunching my back.
Lowering my gait.
I cannot stand straight.

I carry it all
in my gut.
It runs a rut
through my innards.
The little sprinter
starts to splinter,
cutting my inside,
gaping holes feet wide.

I carry it all
in a bottle.
I've bottled it up for so long
trying so hard to stay strong.
Now I just let it all pass
out from my back like gas.

Let me not sour the milk
with my own judgement

Let me sweeten it with
my kindness

Place it in little bowls
outside my window

and watch them
lap it up

It’ll get thicker
with smiles

It’ll soon be
ice-cream

to forget about the calendar.
Throw away those aches and pains.
Very little time remains.
Who says you must be young
to swing your hips and have some fun?
I don’t want a rocking chair.
I can rock right here.

I challenger her.
Don’t care if she’s a grandmother.
So, what does that mean?
Because she’s not skinny like a bean.
Don’t hide in those sweatpants;
shake your *** and dance.
We’re forever young!
Age is just a number, ***.

I claim my innocence,
at my own expense.
Never before could
fathom what's in store,
how arms entwined
would love commence!
There before me
as I stood,
breathing in this musky,
smoky cabaret out
in the wood
I clung to such a strong
and sturdy bark.
Felt exposed, indeed!
My fabric loose upon
the flesh felt so stark!
The sky it opened
when the thunder came.
With pulsing, pounding
rhythmic fever I danced
among the evergreens
without so much as
a  twinge of shame!
I never knew the height
of the trees!
Standing on tiptoe I raised
myself to catch a warm
and tender, gentle breeze.
It was then the clouds bloomed
like roses to fill my head.
Floating, uplifting me safely
ensconced into a downy nest,
there laid my bed.

as mine. It’s untouched as
a novice brush from an artist no one
knew. And I can fill it as much or
as little as I will. It shall bleed

in its delivery from being pushed out
into the open as a babe. I’m sure it
will receive its first cut the very same
day. But Lord, I pray that some

of them will be nice. That some
will even be moved and melt as the ice
in my glass of ***** when they see
me bleed on the page. Not that I’d want

to upstage anyone. Just that I
only came here to claim this lonely
spot. And to say to all that it could
use but a little sun.

and tripped on every rung. And fell
into the slats so hard I burst a
lung. I've hit my head on walls that
pushed to close me in. And through  

the midnight calls threw back
a fifth of gin. My knobby knees have
buckled. My soles have all worn
through. And how the men

all chuckled at scars that I
accrue. The stairway twists and
turns. I cannot see around the bend. I have
my concerns that this all has no end. Every day

I struggle to take a step. And all that I juggle
and still with smile and pep! Some days I just
sit back and watch the folks go by. I'd say
this life's a hoax. We're all just gonna die!

like a child does with a box
of colored chalk on the sidewalk. And I skipped
and hopped on each square, with one leg up. And
pleasure was the order of the day. That was then,

when I placed the world on the hot
cement. After each rainfall, and the brush of
the leaves or the chill of the snow the colors bleed
into a possum. And we both wondered if

it’s dead or alive. Did we contrive
what it was when it lit the whole **** street -
was merely a figment, a child-like dream.

in layers, not all
at once. I reveal a little more
when I feel secure.

I come off
as obnoxious some
of the time. But’s it’s only
to hide my insecurity, buried
beneath the laugh lines.

I come off
as cool when I’m anxious
as hell. People can’t tell what’s
underneath the sheath. Something
that cuts/something that’s deep.

I come off
as sunscreen on a hot
day. Some people sweat me
away. And I try to apply myself
to them again, maybe as a lover –
maybe a friend.

I come off
easily, as an apple on
a tree. All you have to do
is pull. Then you’re sure to get
a mouthful.

I come off
as needy to most, just a parasite
looking for a host. No, I’m just looking
for love. Aren’t we all?

Icon

legend, feel my presence. There can
only be one me. In my own skin
is how I’m growing. I’ll water myself

every day, provide my own type
of shade. I’ll prune and trim,
cut back enough

so I can grow new buds. I’ll blossom
into what I’m supposed to me. Whatever
that is, will be unique. It won’t be

you or anyone else. I’ve got to
learn to love myself. I’m not
young. But I don’t need

to be young. I’m not
wealthy. But I don’t need
to be wealthy. I’m not the brightest

star that ever shined. But I’m in
the sky. And to me
that’s just fine.

I Congratulate You

for spilling your blood out
on me. I was stark as the trees
in winter, nebulous as a bathroom

mirror after a hot shower. Red
was always my color. You grew
wan. I grew a Scarlet Letter

that everyone wanted to
read. I had much to say,
as much as the Rain in Spain. This

would never happen,
or could be without you
cutting me open, tearing off

my petals one by one, with hands
that now tremble.
But fill in every line.

Who wants a leg? How about the
breast? Someone took my wings. Would
you like that stuffed, yes. You want to
catch the drippings?  We could make

a gravy. Tie my legs together. Or ****,
go ahead and spread them. The neck’s
already broken. It’s packed in the plastic bag
along with the gizzards. They’re going to

feast on this broken bird for hours. Devour
every part. Then lay heavy as a mountain
on the couch, snoring as banshee
with pieces of me caught in their teeth.

me a river that flowed to the sea
could cry in my cup for eternity
cry until the sun burns the earth
till every baby’s birth has seen
them grow old as the mountains
painfully stinging cold as the snow
and you’d sit and shake your head
as if you can’t grasp a thing I said

I could cry
me a thick ink sky
shooting a billowing black cloud
as the octopus
punching my fists in the air
my tears so jagged
they cut down the trees
and you’d take umbrage at my pain
as if I turned your glitter into lead
poking holes in your made-up bed

I could cry
out splinters
cutting my eyes
til the bloods spill
into all your lies
and you’d lay drenched
in a pool of red
standing as a blade of grass
till I passed over you like a mower
as if this could make the pain
move slower

eagerly
eagerly as a baby robin
falls from the tree
in spring
before
it earns
its wings

I could fall for you softly
softly as
a summer
rain shower
in the late
afternoon

I could fall for you fast
fast as
a crystal snowflake
during a
driving blizzard

I could fall for you easily
easily as
the leaves
when they reach
their peek colors
in a sequence of
red, orange and
yellow

I think I’m pretty terrific!
I like my body.
I like my style.
I like my hair wild.
I love my poetry.
I love my femininity.
Love, Love, Love my creativity.

People don’t have to like me.
That is OK.
Doesn’t change the way
I think about myself.
Doesn’t change a thing.
What matters to me
is the people I love
including myself.

Some might think
that’s narcissistic.
I think that’s
Terrific!
If only more people
believed in themselves
they wouldn't grieve
as hard as they do.
Insecurity’s a thief
that robs you!

on like a train going from
one destination to another.  Like
***** swimming past all the others.

I couldn't move
like a tree held firmly
by the roots. After you, were no
substitutes.

I couldn't move
like a deer frozen in the headlights
on a dark road in the middle of winter. Couldn't
move - all my pieces were splintered.

I couldn't move
like sinking in quicksand, up to
my neck, burying my hands.

Once I moved
like ice in a blender, caught in
the blades and chopped up -
sold to the vendor.