all of a sudden passion suddenly

Hurricane Grace

examine
discard
displace
all things low within reach

cow says moo
chicken cluck cluck
Peek-a-boo belly laughs from inside a box

a rearranged world
in her wake

blind dj
slides bbq hands
over stacks of vinyl
on blinking xmas nights
right or left he said

i said how bout the middle
its a riddle

outside the pale
snow sky
sucks the color
out of the
december flames

drive he said.

yes i said.

drunk as a skunk
on dew and berries
on you and Merry
Christmas carols
choruses carry
me home again

jagged jumbled
illucid I lay
blowing bubbles
of champagne
and of chardonnay
and of me and you
our spit combined
tongues entwined

beauty comes
seeping out from within
you come
stepping out from the shower

all the same
to me

strolling, nonchalent
casual chatting.
reeds licked.
brass warmed
musical fingers feelng frets.
discordant tuning.

Soloist - so young
stands
Silencing - shushing
head-turning glares
pin-drop quiet.
then
Bach.

Oh talented natural.
with flippant flair
we mortals
merely marvel.

-er than

colder than a baby possum
born on a gravestone in a snowstorm

louder than a hyena
with his tail caught in a blender

meaner than a drunk
on a monday morning
with only fifty cents,
in a state with a dry sunday

hornier than an inmate
with a bottle of viagra
and two broken wrists

and damn, I'm sleepier
than rip van winkle,
after turkey dinner
and a valium daiquiri

nite ya'll sweet dreams

Pretty Girl

Fingers of ice grasp the handle
Chains of steel encircle the figure
Blood flows down the delicate wrists as the struggle ensues
Entering a tunnel of doom they said
Nay not I
You will see "pretty girl"
Fear fills her eyes as His steel eyes reflect nothing but death
Destruction so pungent you could taste it on the air
"Pretty girl" don't you know?
Tears run freely down the marked face
No longer beautiful porcelain features, rivlets of flesh missing
Yanking harder against the chains
Screams of mercy pierce the night
His wicked laugh the only response
Pretty girl He says low and guttural
Don't you know yet?
Not to meet blindly off the Internet
The price to pay for her life was
No one would ever call her "pretty girl" again


niyah2


Think the origination was off the cuff no erasing so here went my virgin try ! smiles

Tomorrow I will wake up
to the same old
dreary weary routine
that always beeps, rings,
tears my ears and
puts tears in my eyes.

No, I don't weep,
they just flood,
pour over to protect
against fifteen below
centigrade ice storms

that, try as they might,
could not ever reach
the sun in my heart.

But dreary I will frown,
take on the sunrise,
head on, head high,
morning weary dreary.
But not complaining,
I'm content, it is routine,
after all.

And tomorrow
I will steer my steps
like every routine day
out into the ice storm
to tear my eyes
and challenge the sun
inside.

Because tomorrow
my steps will lead me
through the ice storm,
to a place of love,
to a place of arches,
colorful windows,
family, ritual and worship,

and I will take a small
child in my arms,
kiss his forehead
for luck and love and
silly superstition,

then hand him over
to other waiting arms.

His head will wet,
and he will Be.
Not just a child,
but Somebody.

Who?
I do not know.
They will tell me
when the time is right.

That is not
my daily, dreary routine.

Hindsight
Can understand
Accidental excess.
Though with no path back, regrets are
Futile

I Do Not Want

For anything this world can offer,
Would I dare defend
For my ego,
My id,
My I?

Is anything in this world worthy
Of my suppression
Of my ego,
My id,
My I?

I bravely say that yes, there is much,
A world full of right,
And soothe my ego,
My id,
My I.

But in the face of it all I still ask
How can I keep it safe,
All my ego,
My id,
My I?

my big fat head
my big fat head
a duet of simple
sinularity
stupidditty
dig and walk out of
grave of own design
nice worm window coverings
squirmy all day suckers

sit a spell and take
have a sample spell
think it's the whole subscribtionary
leaf the dick shun airy
get down tonight
rfno
i like music
I didn't know before
"I love" is a bad boy phrase
phase to outgrow
she said, "and you call yourself a poet"

you laugh a fountain
of strawberry kool-aid
and ginger ale
all over me when you smile

i like being sticky
with your sarcastic wit
and almost funny jokes
about the whether
and why's of lows
and highs
and poems about mad cows

you are a field
of summer squash
in mid march,
a letter to the editor
of a defunct magazine
but you are you
and thats good enough
for me

miss your face
no milk in your coffee
ever smile
with eyes in hand
shaking feeling
go away, I dont have time

start this over
we never began
but you are
missed

*******
wanted, attention
a face with a face
with a place
in your heart
you know me, stranger
when I smiled
you broke in, robbed me
blind---
youre an asshole
and I feel like
charmin

Silence my ghost

No dolls, hair ribbons or kittens
under silver tinseled trees—
not this Christmas or the next.

Only pink poinsettias
for your tiny grave

I mourned you with another.
The someone I couldn't be—
me, the daddy.

When will it be time
to let that ache go?
To dry fragile tears?

To finally silence my ghost.

Panic Again Panic

Dark funnel clouds
form and swirl,
The tornados are coming
one zigs one way
another zags the other.
The tornados are coming.

Fight or flight?

Heart pounding,
white heat,
dripping with sweat,
breathing too fast,
hyperventilating—can't breathe.

Open your eyes!

Gawd, it's not dream,
I'm awake.

Dripping with sweat
I'm hot under my skin.
burning up,
filled with heat.

Going to get sick.
Racing heart.

Chest hurts

Chill out
This isn't a heart attack.
Calm down,
your not going to die.

Easy does it,
breathe in.
Easy does it,
breathe out.

I'm cool.

If I go back to sleep will it happen again?
If I die in a nightmare will I wake up?
Will I choke?
Drown?

Fall?

Screw this—
I'm getting up

Out of bed

"What's the matter?"
She mumbles, yawning.

"Can't sleep." I say,
ready to watch
endless infomercials'
M.A.S.H reruns'
'Nick at Night'.

Something—
anything, just not ready to sleep.

Y e s

After shower—hot and steamy


I luv U

       Me 2

4 ever?

         Always
          Marry me?

Y
 e
  s


—Conversation in a fogged mirror

yes they do
they wear white suits
and sullen faces painted
over evil hidden smiles
ready to jab your pain away
with multi- milligrams of haldol

yes they do
they love their job
makes them feel sane-
saner than me

where are the teddy bears
when you need them?
all piled up in a grave
buried beneath silent tears?

the men,they know, they wear
white suits over
black hearts-you mean nothing
to them and even less
to yourself

run! run!
you can escape if you try
hide in the woods, you're invisible
hide in yourself, you're invincible
I tried and tried to no avail
and I never hurt anyone-but myself

and I couldnt see my babies cry
through the haze of xanax
and morphine that was my life
and then it happened-

concrete, ugly pale
baby poo green- everywhere
"it calms, it soothes"
and all our movies were PG
we saw almost every movie robin williams ever made
*and post cards from the edge with Meryl Streep*

a pharma junkie in the midst
of the real drug addicts
the drunks and crack heads
"addiction knows no discrimination"
or so they would say at the evening
mandatory meeting of AA

I would have jumped
from the nearest ledge
but there they were
the men-
in their little white suits
ready to catch me,
and save me from myself

and somehow
I am grateful
does that make me sane?

** edited only to say that sarcasm was intended in the line about real addicts, there is no distinction where addiction is concerned and also to thank Anna for encouraging me to write about the most painful part of my entire life..* love ya lady

the virgin emerges....

here is what watches me as I type to you on my computer here....

I would LOVE to hear about what watches you.....

okay here I go, stand back.....it could get messy


lovers tangled
heads hidden behind the yellow afro sun
something springs golden from the moon
a star watching in the distance

abstract print above my computer

curves and lines are lovers
tangled in the planes of geometry
hands pressing the hollow there
that is not quite ass
not quite back
her hands turn to colorless tendrils
through the sunshine hair


I want to slide myself between them there
between the lovers who float
between the sun and the moon
there above my computer

I never met my grandfatherinlaw
who made this print

in pencil stratched
73/99
where are the other 98
orange lovers
tangled between the sun spray hair
and cock spurt moon
pressed between the planes
of the universe


have they inspired passionate
threads of their own?
or are they lost in attics
rain spots on the tits
bat shit on the toes
mouse chewed through the shoulder
that presses her down?

if I were a mouse
I might be tempted
to take a nibble or two....

no donuts makes me sad

jelly filled hallmark messes
dipped in nuts, rough around the edges
plain cake, delicious in their understatedness
deep fried twisted, forms that defy logic and reason

noses pressed against the 'puter screen
sad hungry poets
wait for fresh postings

blank stares,people wonder
why empty
coffee cups, new poem list
systems clogged,
a donut maker's pipes
all gooey with sugar and dough
oh NO!

cherry tobacco, no ten cent bics
we're out of toasty limericks
and erotica-laced haiku

someone should write a terzanelle
ohm what the hell!!
a saucy sonnet will do
b
u
t
popcorn might be better...
with a little butter on it

no soup for you today!!
bad soup nazi, go away
it's cold, I wanna read
Anna? Neo? Rybka? OT?

its friday night and much too cold
to sit around and moan-
hot chocolate
a favorite blanket
and someone nice and warm
to hold
( sounds just about right...)

see you all tomorrow,
sweet dreams, good night

japanese boy searching for mother
finding something else
stiff neck from too little sleep
too much napping
and it does matter

it does

at somepoint i had forgotten

yum Neo
got a you got mail while finishing the last words of this insomniac bitch session figured post it, meets the requirements
am I allowed to backspace if I type somting to add a e and h I hope so

----------------------------
Bowerbird
rock piles
Cardnal feathers
Mockingbird desperate calls
Whir and hum
Of machinery
It is all just fucking

Jewels and music
Poetry and talk of the eternal soul
Are not outside such finery

Regurgitated worms
Flicking shit from nest to ground
Sitting still warming eggs with your ass
Beak picking flea from scaled skin

Washing sheets
Scraping dishes
it something else

All the rest is just fucking

Where do I get off
With the word

“Just”