the top of today's to do list:
figuring out why I became a poet.
it was wheeling in my head
while i drove to work this morning.
less wheeling rather sitting still-
stoplights, and a sleeping dog
fall down into the street,
my impatience can only let the stoplights lie.
why this medium, i still wonder-
if i need so badly to unburden my insides-
why such feather-light abandon?
if i am so full of conversations, and stories-
why do i stick everything to fly-papery-metaphor?
maybe my life is made of too many breaks-
and little punctuation
maybe my speaking skills
elude less erudite
maybe my skin empty of decoration
is like the paper i tattoo with words.
Tickle your toes. . .
where are my garden gloves to weed out your evils? where are my rubber gloves to scrub off your stupid? where are my surgical gloves to cut ...
"do not argue. please stay silent. smile and nod. remember etiquette first. do not speak. unless spoken to. no opinions please." y...
I swing in a mini skirt and pill box hat, cat-eyes and pompadour hair, wild in my Stiletto-heeled shoes- and I skulk in a monk dress with th...