Category: Poetry

Power is grinning  over fine, chipped crockery because one look can fill your purse with the boons and lavishings of the men who, undefended, love you. No, they are not victims,  and if they whine from wounds,  they’re not your doing.  Someone made them look for love to buy, just as someone made you market. …

You missed the train, you dumb slut, because you had to check the mirror again. Next one to South Ferry in 11 mins.  Aren’t we supposed to be civilized? Don’t blame the city. Vanity chewed your morning up. And would you look again?  Watch her squint at the mosaic,  desperate for reflection,  to impress no…

The beast is as surprised to be called as you are it wags its tail. Why? Neither can pretend polite society.  You were made for this dance: your words, its fits, both wagging. Who jumps the rope if both turn an end? It must be the third, the one no one wanted but who wore…

The cool man on the couch was not invited, so he pretends, by brooding with beer and balled fists in the cushion sag. So stoic, so wise,  to be captive between friends who warm the waters with talk of masks and traffic. He squirms to save his manhood from the chatter, as the people on…

Darken the page and fill the pot, one in hope, the other punishment, just to see desire fall to pieces— I spy with my witch’s eye a driver gunning uphill in the rain. Try as I might, scry all my might, he’s gone beyond my shining and protection. We started under June stars, elderflower and…

Time to learn and time to lapse. It grows harder the longer without. All that remains is curiosity for— not the touch itself, but the reaction. To feel your hairs rise and curl in momentary unease, then agreement. To feel by flesh, not figments. It grows harder to love when the loneliness has wrapped you…

Nod and choke. They don’t care.  Don’t be the maiden on the prow.  Spit out the salt, unpetrify, and go to Wine and Yoga.  Don’t let them waste you. Don’t let them rot you. Don’t let them pare you down like a shank. You are more than flavor and fat and better than their mastication,…

I figure there are better things to do than scroll. It’s 6:16. The room is blue, the cat is up, and rain is ringing the fire escape. I went out last night, having dreaded the obligation but known that, once I hooked my heels over  the barstool footrest, I’d relax. Smile real. But all that…

The pitfalls of the can-do way are subtle and known by worker ants and women, generally. A hardy ethic saps our strength, the energy expenditure our shape, and soon we flap like scarecrows through the lobby. I’ve bought six dresses, each one chic  and too soon gappy. Saturdays I wonder if idling will round me…

A cat guards the storefront and stares down  the ice cream truck, while the middle-aged Honduran hums to Christian country.  No one would have guessed, but is it such a surprise when you assume other stereotypes of him? It’s glum at the laundromat, despite the hum of washers, the Vegas noise of the coin dispenser,…