rain requires poets answer
typically I reply
often silent until
I have something to say
then you can’t shut me up
about who it is
that can’t stop crying
from the sky

It wasn’t nice calling me silly

just because
You can’t figure me out
how I could be so hot in your ear
then give you a chill every time you rub me the wrong way
weren’t you the one clinging to your teddy bear
every time the wind changed
If I am to die in the summer
pick me up in your truck
and take me fly fishing
because I never learned to fish
and I will feel I have failed at this life
if I never bait a hook
beyond the figurative
the one I carry with me everywhere
a smirky mouth all painted up red
watching the vampires
that come around during the day
eating up everything holy
they can stuff into the pot- pie
grabbing at something pink and wholesome
and smashing it to bits
taking my pretty little lips
to the dark side of town near the freeway
where love is cheap and
no one is thirsty
and they stand in line for hours
to get a glimpse of the king
I heard was still alive and well
and scalping tickets on Sundays
in front of Our Lady of perpetual coping

because joy helps you to swallow

roses.jpg

each day my resolve
weakens
under a burden of years
with one truth to be
self-evident
that we did not think
everything through

in these hours
I sweep fetid memory
under his favourite chair
each moment of hell
relegated to the pantry
behind the oatmeal
no one will eat

it is best to leave way
for new sweet minutes
when I am kinder
and remember smiles
like that time
he left his tea
atop the car
and we laughed

Windy city, bleeding heart



I could be anyone, any girl in a coffee shop on any street, in any wayward town where people are glad to be from and hope for other shores with higher waves beating on the beach

I might have been any woman in the art gallery, gathering dust for inspiration among the dead and the painted

Some shoes squeak, my shoes speak, every mile I walk throughout this glittery city, telling me how I know nothing after years of sweating verses

Watching paragraphs walk by, their stanzas on bicycles looking fit, and I can’t find the words

Stunned by the sight of all the stories placed just so, each letter splendid as Rubens or soothing as Monet

Seeking out shadows as the heart on my sleeve begins to drip along the sidewalk, the drops collecting into a puddle, following me as a stream through this mighty place

Giving me away, and

Screaming at me that I have not yet written anything

Twisted candy

I saw us
as chocolate and cherry
but over time
we are
Lemonheads and black licorice
sour and bitter
just enough sweet
to keep you on my mind

and every time it rains
we melt a little more
hold on baby
it is going to get
slippery
each dream
a place to get traction
if we do not let go

your comment is
awaiting moderation
and your order detained
pending a looksee
into your intentions

each choice you make
questionable
since the last time you
were found wandering
in the zoo

trying to teach the animals
Keats and Millay

getaway car

caramel.jpg

was I ashamed
when I wrote the words
that came to my mind
in a rush
reading it excitedly
and no one understood

or was it a secret thrill
a coup Bond could accomplish
get it by everyone without a clue
then drive off
feeling like Pussy Galore

hoarding all my secrets
in shadows
for days weeks
months years
and decades

then like a child
I blurt them out
like exploding candy
instead of
in silky ribbons of caramel
like I mean to

Hold on, hold on

I was there (I am here)
right where you were – teetering-
over coals I danced
putting all the words in Times New Roman
in a fire-proof box
pithy words – funeral plans-
and watching someone
romanticize your end
makes me sick (I wish
we were friends)
Ginny, why dammit
(hold on, hold on)
did no one tell you not to go
or was your mind made up-
if we had been friends
(I wonder)
could words be enough
would we
have stopped one another
from making the decision
to end the dance

Lavender days

purple.jpg
I am not without
each dream another chance
at peace
and a taste of
purple headed passion
every flower smitten
with the rain

purple flowers

pruning
what does not satisfy
feeding the roots
with memories and dreams
unafraid to look at my past
finding my brave face
for what comes

sweet