are you an iceberg

or just a cold man

floating in the cocktail

that was once my bubbling life

watering me down as you melt

a sad little puddle of anger and delusion

a snowflake that thinks it’s granite

a drop of water that forgot it is the ocean


I am the Titanic

and whether or not you are deeper than you appear to be

I am bound to sink

for I thought myself unstoppable

too big to be undone

turns out I’m just as full of hot air pockets as you

each filling with ice water

the cold is becoming unbearable


I used to be a flame you worshipped

drawn like a moth

’til you were close enough

for me to melt your skin

tough-guy candy shell coating

crackling between my teeth

I used to chew boys up and spit them out

like cheap chewing gum

you stick to the roof of my mouth

I gag and gag

but have no way of expelling you from my life


for you have me tethered to an anchor

(payback for all those Bubble-gum-boy’s hearts)

trapped by the enormous weight of my love

the bird-like rib cages of three small sisters

cage me like a criminal

behind the walls of my own home


and if all these walls could speak

would they spill my shame like a river

rolling over everything

bursting pipes

burdening septic systems

until sewage seeps up from the front lawn

so the neighbors can smell the lies behind the smiles


and you, an iceberg in the mudslide

pulling me under

battered by the debris that was my life

head barely above the surface








if I could tell you all of me

through the tears I cry

spilling my love over my smiling, laughing lips

slipping into yours


emotions too strong to grasp

cannot be contained

I try to tell in half-sentence babble

love I cannot yet explain

my heart is full

with words too beautiful for speech


I could cry into your chest

the story of my soul

sing it to the beat of your heart

I could dream you a vision of me

where words are left unspoken

hoping you can see

Bob Dylan on a Cold Couch

My fingers learn to do yoga.
They callous at the tips, and I
cannot feel you nearly as well.

Dylan learned to play guitar before
I was born. Had I been in 1950,
I would have run away from home.

Your banjo sings to my skin.
Goose-pimples are like snow-capped peaks
And your song skis my shoulders.

I sing in the car, and the shower,
and crossed-legged on your cold couch.
You prepare breakfast and green tea.

Sometimes fingers dance until
they are broken. Dylan didn’t want
to talk about that, either.

Dawn wakes us in the morning.
I laugh at everything now.
Let us perform on a small stage!

Empty Sucker

You fucking sucker
druggy shithead
lifeless meathead
Care less about
your kid
than you did
about your fix
Care more about
than anything else
Use up
eat up
drink up
fuck up
take up
more space than you’re worth
Empty smile
empty heart
empty promises
empty bed
Fill your fucking veins with junk
Empty soul
and a body full of toxin
Empty the trash
and you in it
Empty sucker
You made me
hurt like this


You dig at my door
wearing nail marks in my frame
and hand prints in my handles
Your begging voice through walls
whines and moans
grating my ears with why won’ts

You know why
You were there when I jaded
You plead with eyes
that are sunken
dark and unseeing
unseen in the dark
The porch is cold
even the puppy door is closed

Behind the walls
bones on mine
skin stretched against them
sliding on sweat lubricant

Remember nights where I
hung ’round your step
scratching at the door
rubbing against the poles
My mark was left
But not the nails that dig your back
Now she’s jumping in your arms
she may break your neck
but she’s something I am not


But not the nails that dig your back
or teeth that tear your throat
She’s not the one who is on top
She’s not the one who drags you home

She yowls to the moon
between the leaves above the lawn
Pacing circles in our crab grass
Making face-prints on the windows
Impossible blonde-blue eyes
She pleads in Hellish tones

But inside
bones on mine
skin stretched against them
sliding on sweat lubricant

Energy Between Us

energy between us
swells and crashes
live-wire strung lips
poised, soft-wet
tongues entangle
fingertips to faces
palms cradle dizzy heads
butterfly eyelids flutter-close

eager hands explore
quest soft places
map trails of our passion
snaking up under clothes
straps slip from shoulders
pants from hips
bare bodies fall into bed

trunks flush
limbs intertwine
you grow, I blossom
sweet welcome
whispered names
petals parting
entering with a gasp

drum-beat rhythmic
catch-release dance
hips arc to meet
hold deep
hot breath quickens
opera of moans
symphony of climax
trembling into other worlds

energy between us
magnetic fingertips
tracing magic contours
sweat-wet skin
salty under parted lips
whispering promises
starry eyes hold each other
sigh to still
and I welcome the weight of you

Gods of Saturday Night

I wake
too early for a Sunday
mind still buzzing
memory of a kiss between my thighs
still aching, pulsing
I can almost feel your body
still pressed against mine
almost feel your hands
and your fingers…

I love your fingers
Just one fingertip
I lose my words
lose my mind
heavy eyes
ragged breath
wet and wriggling
beneath your touch
and your mouth…

I love your mouth
manipulating my body
manipulating my mind
your tongue lights fires
but you don’t leave scars
you leave memories
smoldering in me
body begging for more
just one more taste
just one more time.

Your lips kissed shivers
sprawling to my toes
I close my eyes and try
to recapture the night

You say there are rubies in my fingertips
and perfection in my pussy
and with your words and lips
you rewrite the map of my erogeny

You say one day at a time
I fear to look into the future
I didn’t see this coming
I don’t know where it’s going

Moving blissfully moment to moment
if a moment is all we can count on
let’s not keep count
just enjoy

I wake
too early for a Sunday morning
buzzing in my mind
wearing your shirt
the scent of your body
clinging like a ghost
I bury my face into it
praying to the Gods
of Saturday nights.

Light breaks free
from our smiles
bounces off glittering eyes
blinding us to all
but each other
Cheeks sore
from holding our lips
from our teeth
while laughter rolls out
between them
filling the room
It must be made of a gas
lighter than air
We float

I Need Warmth for Home

I cannot live in unpainted rooms.
No wall is left white.
I need warmth for home.

Honey walls beside pumpkin-spiced walls. Amber wood-grained lacquered doors. Warm, red, glossy door frames painted deep, wet red.
Chianti curtains. Lush, waving drapery hung ’round midnight’s windows. Drunk, long curtains falling slack and hanging on
to swirling wrought-iron rods.
Silky, oak barrel flavored rooms.
Rooms with tannins.

Not the sterile walls of rental houses. Not the over-clean of the office.
Not the eggshell, ivory, dove or linen of my mother’s homes.
I need warmth for home.

I need fields of strawberries in the Summer. The rusted undercarriage
of my Chevy truck. The soft, parted lips of a ripe woman.
The red of clay on the mountain side.
Barns, tractors, black eyed susan petals.
I need the coffee-stained color of my father’s teeth.

Sepia-toned, wood-framed photos smile at my warm rooms.
Frankincense and myrrh candles light the corners yellow ocher.
Bay window for winter mornings. Lattice shelves full of rose quartz.
Sunlight glitters through to highlight the cherry red Formica counter top.
Sunlight splashes on the teracotta tiles.
Sunlight rolls up the walls
I rag-painted myelf
while pregnant with my daughter.

I cannot live in unpainted rooms.
No wall is left white.
I need warmth for home.

Pinky Fingers Crossed

Sliding up on Locust Grove

Foothills speak of mountains

Red clay feet

to find our way

and ears to hear

your dark banjo sing

Patchwork leaves


Olfactory memories of a change in season

We roll along

past Atlanta’s maze

and look for roads

to cut walls through slate


We can trade

instrument for steering wheel

every couple hundred miles

Creep outa Georgia

singing Nashville songs

Wander trails

with our pinky fingers crossed