Big B, little b what begins with B? Booze. I don’t drink as much as I used to, but the way the lips bop together on the B and then the kissable shape from the oooooooooooooooooo, followed by the buzzing ZZZZZZZ. It’s a nice word.

This sober life is my Albatross, heavy as a cross, Bending my neck into knots. Around me, I smell the nauseating scent of alcohol and  weed… I am too pure to be here Trapped in this addiction prison The walls all tallied with excuses like…

Sometimes I am sad Green-eyed cri de coeur hasten down pale Irish cheeks. When my third eye sees the beauty of your old soul my heart skips a beat. Ennui as quicksand your hand pulls me to safety blood moon guards us both.

my mother- her face ages from cigarettes and smiles middle-life women call them laugh lines in bitter humor on their eleventh anniversary of their twenty-ninth birthday and with age, comes tears a sort of sopping heaviness, leaking out like a dirty mop over the edges of…

This Place Virginia Carraway Stark The leaves wave Away the tears And lines on your face They say it’s safe And make this place Paradise even for a day The wheel of fate Is graven here As is each roses thorn And every petal Made…

My very teeth – all sweet relinquish morals to the craving to bring spring to know seasons to hoist my weather-mouth high above her, perched perfect as a statue, she is. I am such an ardent gardener I make the flowers bloom in winter, and…

While the bees buzzed and the trees sighed, I was not yet created. You were only ten Moving in unknown terrain Seeking their attention Desperate to belong. I was poised at the end of the tree thorn Waiting to bestow upon your brow The kiss…

So Dance Virginia Carraway Stark Dance with me Dear heart The night is still young It’s not even Noon yet The clouds are breaking With every cheer Of bird song The puddles don’t splash Above our ankles So dance with me And sing Because the…

Always, when I am driving through the territories when dusk descends I see them. Void of artificial lights bold flashes of white figures in the ancient darkness sentry the highway. Communication of souls direction and guidance the movement on my periphery tells me I am…

I spent decades in a cage – acrimonious a basket case full of making assumptions I am locked and loaded at the very least A prisoner made of bullets — my ribs lined with triggers Waiting for the key to turn and for my mouth…