You're gonna come down in sheets 
And I'm gonna take it
Because I need it
It's a reluctant pummeling
It's a rejoice with a relapse
Sick gray daze
hazes of rain
beating me, bathing me
scathing frigidity
drifting over me

I measure in inches
what you've given
gathered sand 
to keep you at bay
and pray for more
I've raided stores
And boarded up
for your arrival

Come to me
Flood my streets
I'm gonna curse
And vow 
to sleep through it all
but I'll admit,
I am enthralled
watching and waiting
for the onslaught
peeking through curtains
watching puddles turn 
to lakes turn to seas of 
all that we need
and I will squeal
"Please let up."

And it will pound on
until it's done.

You could always get more than you can handle and be grateful for it.
Published in: on December 13, 2014 at 4:21 am  Leave a Comment  
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She won’t admit it, but
she wants to be a cause worth pursuing;
To make a man
trapezius flaring,
jugular bulging,
clenched and pumping
with determination;
tackled to the ground
and ravaged like a battlefield.
She won’t admit it,
but she wants to be a territory worth fighting for,
even if she fights back,
she is begging
to be won;
to have a soldier
of desire
conquer her,
to be completely
by his might,
to have him launch an attack
so fierce
it will end in
bloody surrender.
She won’t admit it,
She will be coy, will put up walls
She wants torn down,
Will wail for her troops
to save her,
But her lusting heart is a defector
Longing to be shackled
And bound, impounded
And pounded into
Succumbed weak yielding torture.
Published in: on February 5, 2012 at 2:00 pm  Leave a Comment  
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The wind: a breath, a current

A breath
went for a walk
with two gallivanting fingers
up and down
her spine
That doormat
sure can hold on tight
when the wind
comes from behind
A breath
that couldn’t talk
through pillows and trachea hugs,
exhaled in tears
and darkened stratospheres,
that muffled wind
who can bend and ascend
to the heights of beanstalks
Some foreign breath
that blows wind chimes
carries, like rivers,
the silence
and disseminates
the seeds
much like dandelion weeds
to a distant resting place
for unspoken violence
The wind: a breath, a current
that strips trees or tickles noses,
waves flags,
shifts sand,
and is a collection
of the sighs
of millions of years’ toil
Published in: on June 25, 2009 at 12:03 am  Comments (2)  
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the target in the cross-hairs

 I’m easy prey these days,
a rapid catch.
ready to play?
teasingly left garments torn
soaked in my musk
hang from the oaks
and tracks where the mud
squooshed between my toes, show
you are on my tail
if your gun is loaded and ready
and your hounds can sniff my trail
you’ll be sure to bag me soon
if your senses are keen
you will recognize
that there are tracks aside mine
an imprint, but of what?
and pointy shards of shattered dreams
a struggle has occured, it seems
dear hunter,
are you stalking game
or a tracker shepherd ?
where I hide
under the leaves and bramble
and piles of loose earth
freshly discarded
ragg’ed and shucked
bum luck. Your mark’s already snatched
wipe the horror and shock from your face
rise to your feet
for at this very moment
you may be the target in the cross-hairs
Published in: on April 16, 2009 at 1:52 am  Comments (2)  
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They told her she should go to meetings
She didn’t go
They said the healing would be slow
That it would take time to quit hating men
And that it’s normal to consider being lesbian
She never uttered a word, seemingly in shock
Who would understand the joy of being stalked?
And to whom could she confide that it was a fantastic ride
That forceful slide
“Prevention is key.” they impressed
“You mean, like, don’t leave the window open when you’re getting dressed?”
“Yes, and quit dressing like a filthy whore.
And when you return home, lock your door.”
As if collecting a to do list
But planning
for the opposite
Those animals can pick up a scent
And follow it
And what they want, they always get
She will be waiting in that parking garage
Red lipstick, stilettos on
Curvy black hair, Seductive dress
Lingering for that quick, sick caress
Published in: on November 10, 2008 at 9:59 am  Leave a Comment  
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Boxxxcar Jill

She was a free woman, riding the rails

Sleeping in boxcars, chasing a dream, blazing trails

Where she awoke, is where she was,

A new adventure awaited in every halt

She could make her way on her own

Dancing, drinking, thinking, singing

Seeing lands, finding beauty, finding trouble

Stealing and charming all the necessities to survive

A rough life


There were men. She’d invite any and all in

There was no resisitance to anyone, anything.

Surely totally free.

Until one day.

A thief came along and stole a kiss.

Tied her up, felt her up, filled her up.

Beat her up, and slit her throat.

She might not be free anymore.

Or maybe she’s freer.

Published in: on November 8, 2008 at 11:17 pm  Comments (1)  
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You steal the darkness

Flashing a devious look, you follow me

Into the corridor

Your hand clasps the back of my neck

sweeping my hair aside

your teeth pierce my earlobe

your hands a meat hook in my thigh

you steal the darkness and force it deep in me

I can’t speak except to beg

I am full of gravity and splendor

and bend my will any direction you please with your every gust

When finally you leave,

I am a shrouded black puddle

waiting for someone to come along

and drink me up.

Published in: on October 31, 2008 at 2:12 am  Comments (2)  
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The Fisherman

He will tempt them.
They will give in.
He hides his gaff,
And charms their simple minds.
They struggle for a moment.
They fight for one last breath.
One greedy intention; a twisted perception,
Fell prey to the king of the food chain.
They secrete their anguish-
He’s such a sport.
Inefficient gluttony
Rejected for the massive one.
Published in: on May 7, 1994 at 4:40 pm  Leave a Comment  
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Tonight his plans won’t fail

I can feel my aching arteries

Throbbing with this grief of mine

For all I am, I am forlorn.

For all I might be I am alone…


In a state beyond being, beyond emotion’s lash

My mind clenches to just one feeling

And the dagger’s sharp point turns on me.


Tonight I feel my heart beat

And excruciatingly lay my head at rest

I can hear the wind chimes singing

As the air moves softly past.


This love of not alone tonight,

I feel I am an item.

He thrives his assault upon my fleshy figure

And I close my eyes and make believe

He wants my love…

Published in: on March 31, 1994 at 12:25 am  Leave a Comment  
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