Girl with silk scarf

Girls obsessed
with wearing
works of art
often forget
that they are one


Your Shadow

Man lying on pavement

Too long I’ve been
kowtowing to you
begging pardon for
the ways I don’t suit your mood
meet your expectations
or wear the right sort of panache.

Now you tell me I’ll never get up
and my eyes sting because
my knees creak, arthritic
when I try to stand.

I grunt and roll over
the asphalt a hot
of anger

First things first:
You’re blocking my sun.

Get the fuck out.

Home Port


You problem solve by grabbing
a black portmanteau
and a fedora weathered
by sand and sun,
coming back to me
air-mailed or sea-driven
after loneliness forces
false contrition.

But today, I trail across a globe
with five fingers of possibility
powered by anger, but more:
an intrinsic love of self.

I refuse any longer
to be your anchor.

This is the harsh truth, I’ll sugarcoat it none

Games of luck and games of chance
Flying a kite on a warm summer’s day
Are wonderful, stress-free pastimes
Those childhood modes of play.
But do not think to tinker with my heart
To take it apart and wait until I erect it again
Do not mistake an emphatic “NO” for a start
And resume those cruelest forms of trickery.
That façade that proclaims kindness is false
That smile only searches for a new toy to break
Like a self-deluded hero
You mistake a friend as a vampire to stake.
And though I loved you, and showed myself true
I love myself more, than to be treated so by you.