vintage range

our double oven
blisters flesh
baking unleavened
pans of history

timer broken
once raw
and cornered
bound upon steel rack

peeking through
caramel streaked window
white bulb shines
as we watch
it all rise

it's all we two
-- our recipe
-- our kneads
thermostats simpatico

insulated
and bound
around the elements
broil glowing
searing
hot as hell.

cela

I fall down
in your breath
it stings
my heart
my ears ring
like air horns
pain penetrates
tomorrow
can never come
if you
are gone

garden gala

past pleasant

what do you do
when he changes
like a sunset
bright and glowing
dark and ominous

does he even like me?
I wonder.

like you

I have nothing to say to you,
and if I did,
I'd have no desire to say it.
Thanks!

a fool's paradise

on the sandy shore of your lovely jaw
wading into the pools of your mysterious brown eyes
floating on the waves of your voice

wrapped up in your arms
and the lovely soft
of your touch

I found
paradise

love

all the falls
in the world
are not as bad
as this one

in the pain
of falling out
the falling in
is not so bad

anger scars,
breaks the bone
of every heart beat
etched in stone

then its gone
and there's a hole
that aches
and festers
and oozes

its so unbearable
one resorts
to the contemplation
of clouds
and all the loft
lying there in

stones
piled up
in prayer
leave their
solace there

the image
pentimento
showing up
outstaying
its welcome
like some
homeless relative.

Thanks!

he always writes
a sanctimonious
rebuttal with
an exclamation
point

a sardonic
and melodramatic
platitude
encased
in its
little
monosyllabic
cant

listen to me

everyone wants me to listen to them
listen to their problems,
listen to what they think I should do.
but no one wants to listen to me
no one wants to hear what I think

last night I imagined slitting my wrist
and letting the blood pour out
holding it above my face and
letting it become my last bitter drink

but I was afraid
it would harm
my little son
to find me in such a state

my belly full
of my own blood
and a smile upon my face

no body wants to listen
no body wants to hear
no body wants to care
it's like I'm not even here

plant

as far as
the eye can see
plant

till the soil
erupts
in green
tendrils
and fruiting
bodies

you till
my soil
as if it were
flesh

rip me
in two
tear out the
entrails
and make
sausage

then you plant
your seed
in my fine
and faulty
flesh

it may or may not
bestow
a progeny

but it
always
begets
a sweat

bittersweet
the desire
for companion

at times
such a violent
and hurtful dance

but the fruit
so sweet
and succulent

the farrow
doesn't mind
the weed.

don't

touch me
come near me
speak to me

middle

what do I look like?
the day they smashed my Halloween pumpkin all over the street
the day my brother used a drawing my friend gave me for dart practice
the time they took me and abused me in the field across from the house
the day they took the swing set and told me it was being repaired
the times my sister cried because she was always fat
the time she gave me alcohol to amuse her friends
the time he beat me up and left me for dead
and then blamed me for it.
and still blames me for it.
and he still wants to beat me.
any way he can.
what do I look like?

door mat

stepped on
over, and over.
unable to move
out of the way.
just sitting there
taking it.
it's attention
after all.

sanitize

respect
is given
and repeated
with love
and tolerance

disrespect
is given
and repeated
with hate
and violence

feel the burn

I thought
it was there
but now it is gone
and I can't
and I won't
let you hurt me
like you like to
and you say
you don't
but you do
you like to hurt me
you'd like to kill me.

feature

abuse
has many forms
and I have
no voice

if I try
to speak
I am dismissed

invalidated
tossed aside

imperfection

blank
empty
perfection
nothing
is perfect

no one
is perfect

examine
me.

my flaws
slough
from my flesh
dead
cleaving
sins

affliction
predilection
gaping
maw.

my imperfection
like infection
septic
overall

but all me.