Insolvent

I’m always writing things I gotta do under your name
But I crossed you off the list long ago
Now I’m too tired to cry
Every time I forget you
Your ghost makes a mess
Do you think I look good in distress?

I try to handle my business
But it just goes right through my hands
Grabbing light isn’t easy
When you gotta keep your fists ready
And I’m ready to lay down the pen
I’m too tired to write
I tried to let go
My hands couldn’t clutch
So much

Getting paid to solve problems
I’m working to make everything work
But you were the problem that got away
A solution made of alcohol and apathy
An apothecary of sociopathy.
Now I’m too tired to care
I gave up and let everything happen
The result is inevitable:
I’m still not the one who’s a vegetable

If we were to count
On all the broken promises
And see the negatives you’ve conjured
I’d say you’re already underground
And I’m not going to cry
But I’ll help pack the dirt
For the ceremony
In lieu of alimony

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Vessel

You cannot fuck me dry
 
You may be void of feeling
and feeling me may be
the only time you feel
 
There is no end to my well,
well, you will still
be empty
 
I am full of the juice you want,
but also the blood
that makes my heart pump
 
Teeming with intensity
in emotion, rejected,
erected, you bury apathy
into me as if it is medicine
 
I know you better than
yourself.
Your health
is a fable
and I am racing
to die first
since you thirst
to be alone
on your throne,
the king of oblivion
who can polish
his own damn sceptre
with dry fucking hands.
Published in: on February 7, 2012 at 9:47 am  Leave a Comment  
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Venn there done that

Our night sailing ships collided
The bachelor was brided
Two rings exchanged
Two circles overlapping
.
Venn said that sliver shared is slim
If you really love him
Cross over like an eclipse
Into the space
You do not understand
.
And so I am leaving the space I represent
I cannot lie, I do resent
His abesence in my circle left
A cold, black, empty void
.
And maybe someday soon he’ll see
The wonders that were part of me
and explore that abandoned ghost town territory
To resurrect his soul crushed wife
 
Published in: on February 6, 2012 at 12:50 am  Leave a Comment  
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Verbal Suicide

My words,

not just falling on deaf ears,

but splattering them

like the concrete

under a suicide jumper

with a resounding thud.

I’ve casted them like leagues of lemmings

hurling towards the ocean

and have spewed the thoughts and drops

siphoned from the bottom of my heart.

Now I am only dry heaving and running the pump dry.

I can’t give enough, change enough, do enough, say enough

I’ve loved enough, served enough, understood enough, had enough

To make lonely men jealous you are mine

Yet I’m a swine, more boorish than boring

My 1st amendments hog-tied

Into telepathic snorts

And now we’re out of sorts

For this vowed eternity

Playing house in front of a live audience

That never laughs

 

 

Published in: on February 3, 2012 at 12:18 am  Leave a Comment  
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Mid-Life Carisis

Neglect can kill old love
(If you forget the routine maintenance, that engine will not turn over)
and infatuation’s brand new car feeling
can masquerade as a reliable vehicle for escape.
When it breaks, don’t fix it;
get a new one.
            
I sure wish you would restore this old vintage beauty
and take her for a spin around the block and down the lane into the sunset.
The memories will serve you with more sentiment and cockle warming affection
than the empty reflection while seated behind the wheel of a
freshly factory delivered import that is 90% plastic.

Doppelgänger

I have been clear
I have been direct
I don’t insinuate
still you reject
all the ways I care
now I don’t dare
to talk.

I’m beside myself
but still alone
you’ve checked out
so has my clone
the lack of change
is still the same
but I’m not to blame

I’ve played the game
Of Stepford wives and bedroom whores
The thanks I get is a Cold War
And cold shoulder over ice in cocktail cups
I’ve had enough
I’ve given up.

But the lioness deep down roars
To fight for the man you once were
Regardless of fruitless scars
I’ve earned
I suppose I’m still willing to be burned

…for a cause worth fighting for.

Published in: on January 5, 2012 at 12:43 am  Comments (4)  
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My heart is a hoarder

I don’t need a butler
I need a soul mate
You selfish fuck
You’ve discarded love for the clink in your cup
My heart is a hoarder
Every dirty scrap of love
Is in here somewhere
But I’m nowhere, like you
buried under guilt and grime
Ashamed to let my children see
I’ve held to precious things too long
Until it makes me ill
And I can’t find what I’m looking for
Your caviar and coat tails
Will not clear a magic path
To aortic spasms
Memorial chasms
From diaries stacked lifetime high
Deluged in rivers of nights left lonely
And mountains made of apathy
Covering the spans of space
Inside me where you seldom return
I have a big fucking shovel
And a rented 2 ton trash bin
At my ready
All you have to do is
Look in my eyes and
Give me your time

Published in: on January 5, 2012 at 12:25 am  Leave a Comment  
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She was rusted shut

I am shaking the rust off;

you dance below

as if it is snow

and you are a child

wild

with joy.

once I shine

I will be with you boy

our new start

will be

polished

to blinding

and I am finding

corrosion through tears

just puts me

in proverbial junkyards,

a discard.

it’s this hard

to say sorry,

scrub myself clean,

ask wizards for hearts,

abide in your

absurd dreams.

I’m the trophy of redemption,

the machine of simpatico,

and a tool

with rosy cheeks,

ready for the sequel

to my virgin ignition

You are the oil of ambition

to reach a place like home.

Published in: on December 27, 2011 at 12:49 am  Comments (2)  
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Venge Binge

Wait up for me, boy

and you best leave the light off for me

you don’t wanna see me comin’

through the dark

I’ll be pregnant with rage

and you’re due to be the daddy

I wanna see the whites of your eyes

sunny side up,

your liver paired wonderfully with onions

an’ I won’t cry a single tear

I’ll be pounding you into skirt steak

with the knife set we got on our wedding day

and wearing the cloven hoofed cherry red stilettos

I bought on your credit

to match the splatters

every speck, atonement

for every drop of chardonnay, scotch and keystone

that replaced your vows

and how

I quit scoring my skin

to quiet your heart

and now mine screams

to tear yours through your ribs beating

to be julienned

and marinated in the cabernet reduction

it deserves

and for dessert,

your coque eclair

sans hair

on our formal china set

in the kitchen

with a candlestick

Published in: on June 19, 2011 at 10:21 pm  Comments (2)  
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Lovedrunk Punch

Your kindness, a bribe
that buys my silence
For every kiss, a squelch
celebrated with aqueous amber
The heart is damper
and cannot swim
when it’s so wet
I’ll bet I’ll forget
how naive I am
and go back to being more naive…
The love you wanted is gone
and now it’s permission you seek
from the hollow of what was your wife
When you’ve already taken it
with your kindness and kisses
your brainwashed misses
drunk with the fairytale kool-aid
while you romance the bottle
strip the throttle
and crash.
Published in: on June 7, 2011 at 1:04 am  Leave a Comment  
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Fairytale

I.

In a perfect world,

where knights march bravely

into the face of labor

and bring home the slayed wages

to the trinity:

his chambermaid, wet nurse and cook; (among other things)

his filthy spawn darting

through the halls

spilling the whole day behind them,

there is a pattern that emerges

between the straight lines in the lawn.

He strides through the door

with his battle helmet under his arm,

yet still impressed in his languished face,

to find a woman, worshiping his ability

to be present AND be grownup.

She tosses prayers at his magnificence

that read like front page news:

part catastrophe, part information.

Overwhelmed, his eyeballs fall back into his skull.

His mind darts,

his tongue shrivels.

In his own castle, he retreats,

knuckle smuggling firewater into his goblet.

This disorder desire,

the pattern, the dance

in their cryptic crypt

of stinging silence,

avoidance and inebriation.

His opinions drown in his belly.

She waves her hand in the air

owning the ox.

Her beast of burden is 2 days late

for putting the lines in the lawn.

She, the microhag, breathing shrapnel

grates his ass into supper’s enchiladas.

II.

One dawn,

while the castle was under siege,

he kneels beside her

kisses her still quiet lips

and carries her to the tower.

She is saved twice.

In the air, her bloomers,

a white flag,

a surrender of irritation,

signals to intruders

there is nothing left to be taken.

She gives up and gives in concurrently.

He crowns her

with salvific majesty

just in time for the evening news.

Their ritual, a drug,

has them begging

for constant truce.

III.

In their perfect world

where he marches home

embattled from the trials of labor

into the soft arms of his maiden

with rose stems in his teeth,

his offspring regarding his heroism,

the lines in the lawn are merely garnish.

She digests his daily brief,

his candor, enlightening.

He is the trifecta

of master, lover and compatriot.

She, the quasiprincess, breathing sonnets

polishes the throne

for his ultimate comfort

and spreads velvet on the moat.

The methodical magic,

the pattern, the dance

in their fervid fortress

of adoration and mutual imbibition

is the bliss where the credits roll.

Published in: on August 30, 2010 at 11:25 pm  Comments (4)  
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A Real Man

He smells like John Wayne:
grit,
campfires and stogies,
filthy heroic perspiration as pheromone lady bait
.
He feels like Death Valley:
hot,
his bristly skin like sandpaper to the touch,
his grainy landscape, molding and contouring to my succumbed body
.
He sounds like a pump action shotgun:
steel,
sliding into position, with a firm click
locked and loaded and ready to blast ammunition
.
He tastes like Apache smoked buffalo:
tough,
aged to perfection
sheets of shredded brawn to gnaw on
.
YET, he looks like a a tall glass of milk:
white,
wholesome, and lanky
eyeglasses, and a fluidity that makes me want to drink him up.
Published in: on May 9, 2010 at 1:55 am  Comments (2)  
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Your Valentine Confection

You melt my chocolate heart,

dip your fingers in the puddle

and touch them to my lips

painting each crease, and securing my silence

One by one, you wrap your tongue

around each dripping digit

slowly pulling each out,

savor slow my liquefied love.

I can see the tantalizing look in your eyes,

like a flood of water is filling canals, smashing against the walls

your blood gushing in all the nefarious regions inside.

After your mouth has finished its orgasmic fit

and while every nook of flesh is pulsating, darling,

do not forget the rest of me:

your eclair that still needs filling.

Published in: on February 19, 2010 at 10:10 am  Comments (2)  
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Snapshot conversation

My daughter, currently caught between childhood and the heavy dealings of maturity was watching a game show.
“Name something you take care of so it will last a long time.”
“Cars” “Jewelry” “A home” “pets”
“Stupid people! Say Relationships! Marriage and relationships!”
Folks, this nearly brought a tear to my eye. She’s learning.

Published in: on December 30, 2009 at 11:43 pm  Comments (2)  
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libation, vivation, celebration, consummation

 13 Years of Grand Bliss!

I guess we’re a little dab of quirky quaint as a couple.

Lucky 13 was a monumental day for us. I had lost the diamond from my ring earlier this year. Because we’re both sentimental softies, it was quite a blow. I went without my ring for several months waiting for the time, money and gumption to get it fixed. My grandma came through with the lonely diamond earring, saying I should have it since the other was lost. It was the exact right size. The setting belonged to my husband’s mother. Now that is has been set and repaired, I have a wonderful blended family heirloom to prove my fidelity. I did not tell him she had given me the diamond, or that I took it to get fixed. We went to about the swankiest restaurant in our area, ordered whatever we wanted, lobster, wine, dessert wine, you name it. We really maxed it out! I gave him the ring and had him put it back on for me. Finally, I feel complete again! We danced, laughed, played bocce… It was like falling in love again for the first time! I love that man, and if God has any mercy, he will allow us a lifetime together.

vivation

Published in: on August 23, 2009 at 12:43 pm  Comments (3)  
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The wifely whiff

crimson blush’ed rose
with lips and folds
so sweetly nectarous 
scented center entered
stem and stamen placed
into the connubial vase.
couple rose
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Not fewer words, was it Roger? Julio’s was still better though.
Published in: on May 11, 2009 at 5:37 pm  Comments (3)  
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Once upon a time the amusement park was shut down for repairs

Twas nearly seven years ago
Blue -balled, you left the doc’s
sliced vas defrens in shock
for the longest weekend of my life
 
Hopped-up, laid-up in your chair
I wrestled my urges, however grand
to let alone your glands
and kissed you hard instead
 
Monday came, and I still pawed
Tuesday came, “Does it still work?”
Wednesday came, “How bout a jerk?”
Thursday came, and so we did
 
Cinderella atop the cumbrella
labor-working to extract all the seeds
filled with fairytales and needs
And for so many more sessions ever after
 
We hurried cups of love
waiting for our wish to be granted
how we sweltered and panted
our way to free rides at our favorite park
 
Now we joyfully recall
how superb the decision
to welcome that incision
How we celebrate like Harlequin dolls
Published in: on March 5, 2009 at 8:16 pm  Comments (1)  
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A nightlong prize

He likes the getting as much as the having
He opens doors and brings her flowers
He gives her his hand when they drive
He keeps her heart alive
 
He likes the pursuing as much as the perspiring
He cooks and cleans and whispers things in her ear
He tells her she’s pretty and rubs her feet
He’s very sweet.
 
He likes the wooing as much as the whoopee
He plays Nat King Cole and melts her heart
He fetches her coffee and wine
He’s the world’s best Valentine
 
She loves his tenderness as much as his tenderloin
She rewards his imagination with a whirlwind of pleasure.
She enjoys being caught as much as being chased
He gets her biggest embrace.
 
There is no guarantee he is not looking for
something more from her.
But there is no doubt she will give him anything. Anything. 
He may rest and let her show her grand appreciation.
Published in: on February 16, 2009 at 9:46 pm  Comments (1)  
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