•July 9, 2018 • Leave a Comment

I think
Not enough
To pen and parse
My past
Years perhaps
I’ll peel
Flay and dry
Stretch flat
My flesh
And use these
Oozing tips
Of sizzling nerves
As living ink
Enough at last
To feel


Painting: 1961 by Sophie Derrick


•June 26, 2018 • Leave a Comment

It’s true each leaving
Is a little death
With grieving acrid
On my breath

The shock of empty
In the air
As worms of numbness
Twine my hair

Inside this shrouding
I suspend
‘Till mourning’s lifted
Warmth again




Sculpture by Livio Scapella


Selfish Air

•June 14, 2018 • Leave a Comment


There is a disturbing stillness
To this easy-doing day
Not the pleasant pause
Of springtime sleep and dreaming
But that eerie summer stop
That settles thick the ether
Like the look of a dead thing
Mistaken for slumbering
Until a curious view reveals
Too many angles all gone wrong
Too few flinches at flies
And that same disturbing stillness
Hanging selfish in the air


Painting: The Dead Bird by Frederic Belaubre

Nothing More

•May 31, 2018 • Leave a Comment

A large raven lit not so lightly, descended
Quick by my bathroom windowsill
With his claws clicking, caws stripping
All movement from me, I froze to see
His jointed craggy feet held fast to gutters
And that once living (still alive?) thing
He roughly pecked, pulled hard apart
Perhaps a replica of my quivering heart
Pink and tightly gripped and glistening
Pieces of the thing dripped, dangled from his beak
As he flicked his head and turned to me
Our eyes met brief with equal parts, dark
Repulsion deep, and curiosity
Safe it seemed with the screen between
He returned unphased to his eviscerate prey
So I brushed my teeth and washed my face
While he washed down my meaty heart
with rainwater



Author of painting unknown

Honest Word

•May 13, 2018 • Leave a Comment

My child
is not
the “best thing
I have ever done”
nor am I
and to declare that as fact
is a sappy fairytale
an empty delusion
at best
a reduction of me
and my highest possible form
of usefulness
sex object
at worst
I will not do that
to either of us


imagePainting: Motherhood By Veronica Jackson

A repost for this Mother’s Day.


•May 11, 2018 • Leave a Comment

I am want of late
to eviscerate or Be



•May 11, 2018 • Leave a Comment

This morning I picked up my cranky pants,

And put them on before I had a chance.

My brain was quite blurry,

In my morning hurry,

My only choice now, do the cranky-pants dance.



This is a repost from 6 years ago, can you believe it? But I was inspired thinking about Dr. Seuss today and I remembered this old post. It’s not sophisticated, and yet…

%d bloggers like this: