RetrospectIn desperation,I re-invent myselfAgain,Desperate to meetYour approval.Starving my body,Binding my spiritIn order to obtainYour favor.Strength draining,Character sacrificed,I present my existenceFor your inspection.Critical eyesHarmonize withUncaring wordsAs you flatlyReject me.Once blind with loveNow seeing truth;It was not that IWas too big;But your heart thatWas too small.
SurgerySkin ripping,My fingernails tearing at my flesh,Fissures of frustrationWelling up with the blood.You look in disgustAt my self-mutilation,Never seeing it is my soulBleeding out.Not comprehendingI am trying toExorciseYou.
The veritable palettePeril-less-she wandersAcross the journeyed trek-beforeFlecks of silver moon adore herAnd the sun-she did abhor.She journeys from the way landsPlacid wind on yonder shoreFrom the winds she ran againstAnd ocean she did abhorShe journeyed on-unto a placeOf solitary soundA hill-of earth did greet herRest she-and sat upon the moundIn lowly rest she thoughtAnd the creatures above did see-She thought of the lowly creatures-And they-did think of sheShe thought of how to toast themAnd cook them one by oneAnd how delicate birds wings areSo juicy . . . and so firm.The creatures down below herThought of human all diced upFricasseed and fancied-And souped up all for supShe thought-and then she wonderedOf opposites . . . did ensue . . .If I shall wonder to partake of themDo they think also, too?And her mind . . . it did a turn-And glorious eminence from heaven displayOf the emergence of clear thought-the sun brought herA wisdom on that dayAnd the hill-on which she, se
DissectionWe pulled out all the emotionsRestored all the virtues with pityReplaced the heart with a stoneTore out the eyes and madeempty sockets of painWe righted the gunAnd cocked the trigger-YetThe bullet bledAnd I was leftan empty hole.
Lilacs broodingLilacs brooding-Warm chocolate and spray starchCotton and wrinkled linenNettles knittingBlankets among tangled tressesRibbons frayedAnd laid in rowsOn an old oak dresserFull of perfumedGlass bottlesWinking in the sunGlinting half empty eyesSleepyDrowsyLipstick mattedOn full dry lipsLilacs broodingIn a vaseIn the sunDriedPurpleAnd dead.
NothingSearing fleshNow torn asunderCensers burn on open flame-Hearts like open pages . . .Of a bookTo torrid to tameTouching, holding, memoriesDistantTorment me daily withWords left unreadThought unthought ofNot even a tokenPoems unwritten& things never said.
VisionsIf one looked downIntoA shallow pool . . .What would one see?A reflectionOf timeThat has gone and past . . .Or a reflectionOf what isTo be?
EffigyWords are immortalityAnd the pen is the veinOf lifeWhich grafts with willAnd etchesThose irrevocable fragmentsOf feelingDown for all to seeAnd peruse, at leisureBlood flows . . . with the ink-And every tear-A period.Every slash-A suicideMarking the endOf the life of a sentence-Only now . . . a fragmentRemains of whatOnce wasAn effigy to allOther fledgling poetsAll we haveAre their words.
The DancerCrumbling amidst the ashesOf a forlorn fevered facadeShe spins and turns pirouettesIn the debris of the mindAching and stretchingTo attain that perfectionThat eludes her evermoreShe will contort and manipulateHerself in painful waysJust to make you smile.