i split my wrists
with cotton candy.
opened with a
started with a
i killed myself
good and bad
and full of
with aunts & ants.
your hair is feathered
you’re no angel.
In 1942, under the watch of ole red, white, and blue,
a boy met a girl.
He told her he was leaving and would marry her when he returned.
She was home to him.
In the back of the movie theater with “Bambi” on the screen,
she nods off, to “Love is a Song,” yes.
She is not quite seventeen.
He leaves her with a ring and all of his best intentions.
He fights bravely in a
Battle between winter and the beautiful.
She writes him every day.
He comes home to her.
And, as the chords of the wedding march begin,
and she moves toward him,
He remembers love.
4 inches flacid
be good to her
my daddy was an alligator wrastler.
i was never dangerous enough or verdant enough to woo.
i used to try to distract him from his gator grappling
with one girl synchronized aquatic ballets
or dangling baby salamanders from my ear lobes.
listen to me daddy,
see me daddy,
pappa, can you hear me,
as you climb the jacob’s ladder out from beneath our toes as we steal
your amber blush rose cross to the lotus rich marsh in the azure.
my 2 cents.
illustratins on a stool.
men hide behind words.
women hide below pictures.
word and picture, mythical, magic mirror mirage.
where is the third nail?
“get off the cross, mary, we need the wood!”
he wonders if it is late enough at night for morning wood.
he silently admonishes him for being a have playing
he imagines what having him tastes like.
nails across buttocks.
persecution sipped slowly.
men love funny women.
to really know a man
pull the one liners back
to reveal what he is healing.
and, trust your tears.