So many girls

come and go

of face,

indeed very fair

fair and vain

—vain enough to get mixed up

in the game

a game played by men

with big purses,

bigger dreams,

and opprobrious conducts

so many girls

came and went

bent to scorn

and disease,

braved hunger

till malnutrition

intervened

some bent to needles for oodles of cash

some came solely for few spreads

on that vanity-fair

some of them only made a dollar

a handful were a sex symbol

two or three

mastered the game,

and thus remained in the arena of lights

blinding lights, exciting nights

enticing class

so many girls

bought into that life

of lights and lies

newspaper headlines

Hollywood pop-icon types

so many girls

lost their lives

trying to fit into a box,

a thin line of perfection

imagined by fanatics

where self love lacks significance

and double digits on the scale

an epithet of greatness,

of beauty, of sexism

of Vanity!

The stars fell, silently, one at a time until the sky was unmitigated darkness.

When the world stopped, and the end came, I laid down in a blue bathtub, with a pink dress on, and waited for you to tell me goodnight.

But you never came, and the world ended, and that pink dress rotted around me, and I became the stars.

You realize I'm insane, right?

Even in my own mind

No matter how many times

I'm told I'm not

Then later told I am

I'm not the dream you made up

From seeing photos

& reading words I wrote...

I'm not that deep in person

Just another broken jackass

Fooling around thru life

Trying to act normal

Not drawing unwanted attention

I do not match the

False life I quietly create

Amongst reality's boredom

Between photos

& the empty gaps words leave

Sure, I'm an artist...

Love like one

Fuck like one

I'll ravage you

Explore every part of your skin

In grand detail

First with fingers slowly

Followed by tongue

That will revel in all the

Sexy noises I can make you make

And purposely drag it out

To wanton agony

Just to see how long you'll last

Or I can hold out...

Nobody has outlasted me

That first go around

I'll dehydrate you

Get you water

& come back for more

With a vengeance

To make you lust for me

On lonely nights

After it's all been

Said then done

Long since I quietly

Took my leave of

Everything to just

Walk away from

You refusing

A dedicated life

To a fruity

Lost

Artsy

Soul

Like

Me

Great blue heron

skims the marsh,

stoops to scoop.

Fish melt

in his mouth -

chocolate candy

for his soul.

Untamed and free,

owns the place

soaring grace.

I am the Poet, not the poem,

This fact you need to know,

These phrases I carefully weave together,

Are precisely where they should go,

Sometimes it seems, they rhyme,

But if its just prose, it might not,

Yet if you read between the lines,

You know I gave my best shot,

I simply am a puppeteer,

Where words are connected by strings,

Pulling gently upon your heart,

Exploring so many things,

I create these poems from my imagination,

Specifically for your thoughtful pleasure,

Many have a deeper meaning,

To be absorbed at your leisure,

I am the poet,

You are the master,

I try to write better,

I can't write them faster,

The creative process,

Doesn't work that way,

But I might just create.

A poem a day.

Hard work and sweat,

Blended with the fumes of a few swear words,

Old Spice and Listerine,

Broken hearts and bruises,

And a touch of sour whiskey.

That’s how my father always smelled.

For a while I reeked of resentment,

And hatred and spite,

And rightfully so.

But not anymore.

I take the stench or rotten,

And turn it into roses.

I forgive. Because I love so deeply.

I forgive. Because he is such a part of me.

I forgive. Because I know his torment.

I forgive. Because he smells like my dad.

And I forgive….because I love the smell of sweat,

and sour whiskey.

I just want to die-

Die enfolding your fragile husk.

But first,

Let me slash you slivers of sugared sunshine.

Let me dive for the diamonds dancing in the river.

Let me caress your pain with christaline choirs. 

Let me mine magic from a champagne moon.

Let me lick our last laugh from your lips.

Let me die then,

Contented,

For what else can I do?