tangelos on the windowsill

Oak leaves eddy beneath the curtsy

of my besom broom.

Fallen faces disclose

anguish- sometimes peace-

  before that pirouette

from my wooden porch.

  We have many questions

                                   for one another.

Dark and reticent,  these sweet mycelium, mired

fibromyalgia,

whisper in naphthalene. And, 

my guts stretch means-to-an-end.

You can only take

the rat-race you accept; Try to win and then fail

and fail. Be personal- if

not personable; stake claim

in fervor; hard-won,

shark's teeth, sharp’s the day we  met:

does form mean regret?

Hands in the dirt,  black as the soil I trowel; sliced earthworms litter  red-packed clay. The revered

dirt-aerators writhe and push faceless faces toward into the dark uterus of earth. We are not unlike, earth producers.

When you are close-and you will know-lie  prostrate in the living dirt. Breathe, meld into hubris and remember the grit below your nails.

Squinting, I negotiate moonlight; I snip moonlight, needlepoint snippings like needy-points, icy like moonshards needing negotiations.

Breathing tubes dry choke your nose; do not diminish blithe humanity.

October's skittering here; entwining, skittering and entwining falsely and crumb-laden, falsely predicted  crumb-layers accurately predict nothing.

Fingernail of Moon, 

sliver past the ink-welling 

night; make your mischief.

Giggles, note-slidings cease when the poet announces her presence  in a whirl of murky command.

This witch, this writer, this performer defiantly pushes a dread behind her shoulder; then, ebon eyes ablaze,

SHE begins. Hands cling  to our human existence. Begging, pleading  for the equal; bleeding for what’s right.

I will carry this message into the poetic  savagery of my spirit; I must learn to present strangers my heart.

- insert better title: mah wittiest silliest.

Gristled breezes and kamikaze acorns concern themselves not with the panicked arms skewed across our thick heads.

Each aggressive breeze brings  an onslaught; these pellets reckon;  Winter's tongue flicks,

egging blitzkrieg warnings  of her emotional departure- the excruciating silences.

Whiskey will float us into a longest-awaited  spring. Her guard offers itself to the moon; silvery light-acceptance.

The elusive ball is where you'll have it.

Your court or mine?

Talking shit about

work, creating the lie of

subservient life.

  Your past experiences (sexual abuse, mental abuse, physical abuse) will NEVER, NEVER constitute an excuse for the perpetuation of this behavior!!!                             

End of discussion.