Category: Writing

Poem: Technicolor

vibrant color and leopard spots silk, satin, velvet pink tassel earrings dance and direct the eye easy to win against denim and grey t-shirts high heels beat sneakers candy scents and bright nails but only if one wants to win dares to try and has the guts to own...

Poem: Supply and demand

echoes from ancient —or so it feels— recordings my voice, my noise, my words: in my absence these still reverberate still sought out —by a few— but still more than zero I am shocked flattered confused and even a little grateful to be remembered and missed even if only...

Poem: Smokescreen

every story ends on a high note triumph at Coachella never taking out the trash the next day we want to seem heroic never bland we skim the details and hide the fall —or at least cry out “I meant to do that!”— is storytelling just another ruse we...

Poem: Spring cleaning

need for a purge cleansed toxins sludge from my bad habits physical spiritual and otherwise body, mind, and garden clutter of all types only keep the best of my bad habits the ones that make me smile...

Poem: Tulips

the first tulips pop cream with coral-orange flames dagger petals raised to the sky “We are here, notice us! and take photos to remember us by when you have flown south where you must content yourself with cacti and dahlias and we will be the only thing you miss...

Poem: Unshorn

cherry-mahogany reaching down my back siren-signal calling out “touch me” —to men— or “hate me” —to the hags— Don’t tell me short hair is fashionable: I don’t follow trends —trends are for morons— shorn sheep bleating rationalizations Never cut your hair. Do not fall prey to the matriarchs who...

Poem: Drowning World

swimming, gliding simple luxury made difficult and distant while the sheep bleat for more kicks to the ribs I’ve long since written them off simple-minded souls following orders and I am an unwitting invader in a hostile land that I long to flee And when will we cut the...

Poem: Dye Job

freshly fired hair —bloodied— always wary of its power will it bring me my mate? or just fresh headaches? attention at all costs whether I’m ready for it or will hide again too soon to tell the more I shrink the more I grow into my own skin and...

Poem: English Daisies

english daisies their stout heads fringed white and red stuck up into the frigid wind racing along the bank the daisies don’t care clinging to secure soil and greeting the rising sun tenacious yet tender early, waiting for the daffodils to catch up and nod their heads along with...

Poem: Quiet Witching Hour

the rain has stopped leaving only the furnace hum droning on in the dark waiting for the taps of fresh drops from the sky and I wait for ideas words falling tapping on my brain as if I don’t already have more than enough to say to you...