during the times of kings and crooked priests when land was worked with skinned hands and God was kept from most fat wives were prized possessions throughout the times borders planes punk tunes politics wars of worlds and lipstick trends tea cup dogs and reality shows churches of every persuasion color and flavor fat wives are now abandoned dethroned and berated yet among the kings and dukes earls and car owners big boned brides and fruits from loins each pound of flesh was a gold brick in their safe now strewn across my street and the streets of the city fat humans lethally lethargic forced to eat poisoned industrial concoctions trash and starches because the bottom of the begging cup has nothing more than the guilt coin of the popular collective unconsciousness
Domestic Violence
my life stuffed
between 3 and sunrise shift
my eyes stay wide open
aches of muscle and moments passed
regrets are very minimal
thoughts deftly switch from history
to your lips and how dry and harsh they were to me
then a statistic or two or three
will break the catatonia
my life stuffed into the thought of you only
brings to light that i have wasted precious time
spread the WLS
complication
you ask why do i cover it
wandering around town
a million thoughts
abstract in their reality
answers swerve but then the questions haunt
im not a fitter in the jigsaw of today right now
just a passing sorceress with a spray paint can
strayed under the bridges dirty shoes bruised features
archangel seal on finger never ringed but broken twice
but even in slumber you complain
how can anyone ever hold you
your hand anchored to your hardened chest
it’s a reflex i whisper back
shes frail
beating hushley
neath this bony tattooed hand
spread the WLS
tanka for Anne Boleyn
in my head i’ll stay
the queens always lose their heads
heaven in her eyes
just before the tragedy
angels swoop to catch her soul
spread the WLS
haiku for blushing girl
wallflower
blush
in
the
beam
of
Venus
eyes
hide
from
an
angry
Sun
spread the WLS
dying calla lilies
quiet night traffic far away
every now and then a pup yelps
a wayward bird sings outside my bedroom tree
on book table black pressed wood
furniture of wayward youth
thrift store jar where my heart lives
a pair of dying calla lilies
representatives of shifts in life
into a phone i type feelings that should have been spoken many years ago
supple tender gentle were my hands
reaching up to the hearts of men
and discovered as i pulled back empty bleeding stumps that they had no love to give me
spread the WLS
three Thelmas
Thelma was from Panama
a dancer in her day
came to Hollywood with glimmer in her eyes
but ended up scrubbing walls
and partying it up for pay she said
Thelma was from Washington DC
went to fancy chemistry school
came to NYC to do her thing
and we all three Thelmas
black eyes in common have we all
three Thelmas from different places
in the world cold winter rain
has become the norm
beads of soaking wet misery upon our windows
stretch and shrink and rainbows emit
no colors through the smog
spread the WLS
failing in love
as winter whispers
candles of my eyes light up
my heart pounds for you
spread the WLS
eating my words [xii]
spread the WLS
orphan
i often forget his smile the glint of his eyes pulling an old dog eared letter i touch his cursive delicate but unintelligible there are no particular ideas in the tight ringlets of pale black ink his mind was full of scorpions she never returned to him they both mad with ego and one uppance i progeny alone i with a heart full of wasps
