Mother's Palfrey

This night bleeds burgundy
soaks the needle
dripping silent
slipping violent
under threadless seams
that envelope the past
too fast
to freely
too far sewn in
to the fabric of fearing
the frenzy of hearing
her pistil heart pounding
frantic
drowning
thick throbbing
seething frowning
waves chaotic
hypnotic turmoil
as she's beating through endless
measures of symphony
fleeting dissonance
and the mind of maternity
rhythm racing to catch the trio
hidden in the distance
dissidents
defiant
running for shelter
in the bunk bed for two
for fools
or for jumping innocents.

Night Shade

The pansies have let their petals go
and now it will be brutal
maybe nothing will grow

dog days of summer
and me without a hoe

Vinca vine vanity, though
might be the life of me
if the night shade
swims the glade
and springs the morning glory.

Crux & Connoisseur

Yes I am
I'm ghosted
and short of breath
dream wake walking out the door
french balcony
second floor
no stair still pour
into my real estate
resignation
to the hitch in our history
and the hematite whore
to the bitch in our rookery
who swallowed and then swore
that she'd never be
a connoisseur
of me.

Post Modern Nyquil

Today I am the dregs
feeling the antihistamine buzz
and "c'mon ...you're the next contestant..."
wrestling with the familiar flush
of the commode...

as if I care about
being in love
living on my income
or the Zen of hazardous materials

Where did I leave those damn cigarettes anyway?

If only it were so easy Susan G. Wooldridge
to be a toilet-seat Tolstoy
or an outhouse Poe
incontinent inspiration
splashing onto the page.

A shot of grasshopper green
"so I can rest" medicine
and a sideways glance in the mirror-
I'd hate to deal with a puffed up prostate...
that would really disrupt the flow.

First appeared in "The HazMat Review," Vol. 2, Issue 2, Fall/Winter 1997