his pearly straight teeth
and chiseled jaw
the fire in his chestnut eyes
the crowds he draw

No one saw past
his sharp wit
his washboard stomach
he was fit

No one saw past
his satin jet-black hair
his way with the ladies
he'd open the doors/pull out their chair

No one saw past
all his lies
how can they now?
with a tummy full of butterflies

of his cigarette
a menthol smoke silhouette
circling his wet crimson lips
with just the tip between
his stained crooked teeth
he ***** me hard
till I'm charred
pulling me out
with his ***** yellow nail fingers
I linger there as he speaks
growing smaller on the exhale
I wail cause I remember when
I was white and clean
but now
bent and twisted
a stump in a metal tray
where all his other smokes lay
among the ashes
in a blanket of powdery gray
I smolder
old and colder
my fire snuffed
on his last puff

Low
slapping my face
in the ***** cracks
of a broken vase

I fell so
High
knocking a buttered sun
out of the cornflower sky

I fell so
Far
passing a naked moon
through a fallen star

I fell so
Near
tearing a jagged hole
in my crimson lace brassiere

I fell so
Wide
there wasn't a place
anywhere safe to hide

I fell so
Narrow
dying from the sting
of a poisonous arrow

inside my head.
Rising like of a loaf of bread,
blueish grey and soft as lead.
I'm a bobble doll
whose head's about to fall.

I carry it all
on my shoulder,
heavy as a boulder.
This year is making me older.
The weight of it
hunching my back.
Lowering my gait.
I cannot stand straight.

I carry it all
in my gut.
It runs a rut
through my innards.
The little sprinter
starts to splinter,
cutting my inside,
gaping holes feet wide.

I carry it all
in a bottle.
I've bottled it up for so long
trying so hard to stay strong.
Now I just let it all pass
out from my back like gas.

that his Tommy Bahama
thyme linen shirt
is pressed. Every day he’s
dressed in a new color with
a stand-up collar.

He cares
that is ebony satin hair
is coiffured and sprayed,
parted on the left side and laid
flat. No gust of wind can
disturb that!

He cares
that his cobalt convertible
BMW is washed and waxed. He’s not
relaxed till it glitters as gold. If
there's a scratch on the leather
next week it's sold.

He cares
that his wine cellar
is stocked with Dom Perignon
in the first row up top.

He cares
about women -
every one of them,
long as they're beautiful,
young and thin.

with his silver spoon,
hitting the shell of this hard
boiled egg.  I fracture like
a broken leg. Splitting off in

misshapen jagged pieces
he discards, like a pair of ripped
leotards. I'm just a chip off
the old block, a weathered plank

from a floating dock. A wood shaving
from a cedar tree. He scatters me
like the autumn leaves. I've worn
so many coats my colors are flaking. Peeling

like paint, these curls blanket the ground,
sticking to blades of grass like pollen
fallen from the sky. Polka-dots dancing
pirouettes on his tie.

has not a trace of
love. It hangs on
the neck like a pair of boxing
gloves. Brows are thin

and spread uneven. The eyes
have no shine. They're clouded
thick like meat in brine. The nose
rose like a mountain in the air. I see

through the nostrils all the grey
hair. Cheeks are pale. There's more
color in my glass of ale. The mouth
is stuck in a pout. Cannot catch a

smile. I'd have more luck fishing
for trout. The head oscillates like
a fan. You look the same. But
you're not the same man.