Sister Q.Z. (THAT’S ME!)                          92

             Had a man who couldn’t please me,

             Didn’t even try to tease me,

             Needing, as I do, a spank and a whack

             When I scratch his brother’s back

         I was a fat tub                                       94

         Standing on squat legs

         Young and begging

         To be entered

         But you gave me a diamond scrub

         Descended upon me from above

         And, in bubblebath crystals,

         You brought me lilacs.

           Until Winter Pops In For a Visit                    94

           He Reads

           A Postcard From Iraq for Christmas

           The people snub us

           But to surrender.  Send toothpaste.

           Met many terrible, smelly men  barracks crowded.

           Great to be on shore patrol, off the ship.

           It was a long four months at sea.

           I may be home after a second wave

           Of blood soaks the sand.  Baby’s due

           In July.  No contraceptives or abortions

           Available.  It won’t have your eyes.

                                    Your loving wife,


               By Twit Nevershare                              91

               I am modeling myself in porcelain

               Halfbaked highlights, rerounded

               And rerouted in the runny clay,

               The glint of light does not enter me

               As I shape the outside of my poetry

             Porcelain yellows                                 92

             With the thinstreamed truth

             After the love juice

             What if he, like a flatulent hero                 92

             Blares in your face, his finepointed part

             “You’ve no violin, you petulant Nero!”

             Adding an F to destroy your verbal art?

             Why waste a woman’s life                          92

             With postage sent for vanity

             Training her thoughts toward Gothic strife

             When she could blow revolution’s fife

             Instead of “mine”, instead of flirting with insanity?

         You drive your car                                    94


         But not without

         A seat belt

               This poem was written                           91

               By the man in the moon

               “It’s sexual suicide to be

               Lit like this, with freezing buns”

         Message to Michelle                                   94

         Translate me

         With a little taste

         Lick the words clean

         Sucking sounds out

         Before filleting them

               Big balls bounce                                91

               Red and brown, down

               The slopes of San Francisco

               In pairs, past flower shops

               Past the bakery, and into

               The traffic below

BAY WINDOWS                                                     (94)


             And Dickie breaks, too                          92

             Telescope illusion

             Of coq au main

               Always something miniature                      91

               In the mind when a lover’s absent

           So stay off the street                              93

           And wear a sweater

         Hamhock, sirloin,                                    94

         Filet, shoulder,

         Butt and Chuck

         He separates his lovers

         Into parts

         She stuck a flower                                    94

         In his barrel

         He stuck a barrel

         In her flower

               We were taking a tour of the farm               91

               Until, suddenly I screamed with alarm

               Just seventeen goats and a bunny

               So I thought it rather unfunny

               To feel a goose on my bountiful charms

         Telephone Tearings                                    94

         I called an old boyfriend

         Told him I was being eaten


         He asked if he could help

         I said the problem was too


         For him to help with

         And that this was to be my final,

         Final goodbye

               I can not color in your eyes                    91

               The oil on that old canvas,

               Unfinished, dry, in cream

               Skincolor sits.  The studio,

               Empty, I study your thighs;

               I don’t think they’re right,


         on joy                                                94

         oh, joy!

         enjoy on joy.  enjoy joy.

         enjoy joy on joy.

         on joy, enjoy joy.

             That’s the way                                    92


             Delicate delights

             No noise in the kitchen

             Ingredients and temperature

             Just right, perfect texture

             On the cooling tray

             And someone with a sledge hammer

             Comes in to smash

             The table and counter

             The cookies and sink

               The grass is the cousin                         91

               Of my ass

               She is the motorized hum

               Of a lawnmower

               She is the growing


               She is the weedeater

               And sodlayer

               She is the trimmer

               Fingernails pulling at me

             I cranked up the Grand Prix                       92

             For his girlfriend from Australia

             While we were awaiting her plane

             Said, “let’s go for a ride”

             Told her, in secret, “I’m a storm

             Buster.  See that thunderhead?

             We’re going into it.”  We did.

             At about a hundred, hydroplaning,

             We rode the length of the storm and then

             Turned around and rode the storm backwards.

             She said her fear of airplanes had been cured.

             (please note, it wasn’t written like

             Turned around and rode the storm backward


             Daisychaining with the other wild women, rough riders.

             She said her fear of flying had been cured.

             Now was it?)

             Rosegarnished                                    92


             A lost recipe

             Describing grief

             Because love

             Can be laughed at

             (whereas laughing at grief is not PC)(That’s a TLA and

             this is a TLA only that TLA is a twoletteranagram and

             this one is three)

         I bounced off of men                                  94

         Like the drunk I was

         To the player piano rhythm

         Of dentists socializing

         Feeling the spikes of their approval

         Like pollenmasked migrant workers

         On the side of the highway

         Kerchiefs flapping against the napes of their necks

         Garbage bag dragged in one gloved hand while the other

         Speared the litter on the edges

         Of my vagina.

             Barmaid titmouse                                 92

             With a pocket full

             Of cheese

             Doesn’t want to sell

             Much more than sleaze

               Cribbage                                       91

               We peg for points

               Look for pairs and threesomes

               Doubleskunk when we can

               Play listless


             Love that heals                                  92

             Has to be

             Like regular meals

             In place, permanently

             And the time it takes

             When love’s alone

             When forgiveness rakes

             You to the bone

             Is a kind of reprieve

             For the kindness that made you forget to grieve

             Poetry lives as long                             92

             As pen meets paper

             In any gutter or penthouse

             Where there is feeling to express

             Or thought to share

             But good poetry goes

             Where great poetry doesn’t dare

             And will until the penthouse pet

             Kisses the gutter dog with glee

             And calls the barking “great poetry”

             Siniod at Maggie’s Nipple                        92

             Taut horizon

             Pitted face of the moon

             Rolling, round hills

             Licked by lightning

         Nobody is home                                       94


         Nobody is foreign


         I’ll bet I’ve had some boyfriends

         Who could make a foreigner out of you.

               Clothespin fever                               91

                     spin fever

                       in fever

                       in  ever

                       in  Eve

                       I’   ve


         All I see is the ugly,                               94

         Pretending so hard to be pretty.

         I am pretty.  I am.

               Cuntlicker                                     91

               I’m a cunt licker with long tongue

               I eat them alive

               But can’t tell you that

               In a plain simple way,

               Hide behind the mask

               Of solopseudopsychology

               And “your turn today”

             Why not frame the remains?                       92

             Bronze the toothpick he used;

             Put the wine glass under glass

             With a touch of red wine and his dribble

             Still inside, vacuum seal it.

             He comes; he goes.

             You don’t desperately need him

             He comes; he goes.

             You won’t leave up the toilet seat

             He comes; he goes.

         Finger, you “obscene” silly symbol, I watch          94

         Myself blaming you for this expression

         Now you won’t pick my nose or enter her crotch

         And my hand gets the blame for this digression

             Flowerless husband                               92

             Bearing bulbs

             Removes his wife’s leg

             From his flatulence.

             Outside, bed bugs

             Run to the warmth

             Of hot air

             Under satin sheets

           Salt lick suckers                                  93

           Froglike toads

           Weather or not

           We wear our thick skin

         I’m going to say                                     94

         Some really nice

         Sensitive things

         And then say,

         “Hey! Trust me.”

         On the lip of your KT boundary                      94

         I count 26 million years

         With my fingers

         Senses tuned to wild life                            94

         She was never alone

         Give me a poetry I don’t understand,                 94

         A boy who walks like capital letters

         And runs like a semicolon.

         A golf and orgasm instruction video                  94

             Another wife                                     92

             Wishing for


             A state,

             A lone star,

             A bank failure,

             After threatened divorce

DICKEY                                                         (94)

         Turtleneck                                          94


         Of the questionable


         Murdered Moments                                     94

         Unfolding face

         Drinking the “rivulets

         Between my breasts”,

         But then he had to go

         And chant and pop out

         Into “night”, “earth”, “time”.

             But for words                                    92

             Like “dark leaps of time”

             I would be happy to see

             Two hands joined

             (Or even four)

             (Or hips, for that matter)

             (Or hearts)

               Your calamari living                           91

               Your scungilli life

               Your pasta vasule

               Your clam character

               Your fettuchini sex

               Your egg foo young legs

               And your mayo shark mentality


               Against those same damp

               Dining room walls

         Hey! I want my first seventeen in ribbons            94

         Jazz Intonations in Intercourse, PA.                 94

         Your P.A. was a public address

         Improvising on a latex fruit

         The squishing sounds of evaporating consonance

         Lubricated by light tinkles on the tin roof

         And a romantic motif, barely remembered

         Your lips lost in smudges of strawberry stain

         No Wonder They’re Wimps                              94

         The court case


         Bobbit glans

         Bahloons                                            94

         Six pense


         The perky nymphettes

         Stir and snatch their Spring

         Drools, while I, boss, task it out,

         You play, you work, you get laid, you

         Collect cucumbers from the garden,

         You shear the weeds and Bobbits

         We are here                                          94


         You are there

         But I am here

         This is my picture painted

         With words for you to look at.

         Do you see it?  Do you feel it,

         At least? It, the mood  you know?

         There is something here…

         Well, not here.  I’m here.

         Prop                                                94





         (But not stacked)

             Poets unite                                      92

             Your tongues

             on THIS!











         Your big fucking words                               94

         That enfold mistaken meaning

         The detritus of premature ejaculation

         Free salt for your wounds                            94

         Free focus for us females

         Forget it for guys

           In those words                                     93

           I hear that droning voice

           That “This is poetry” voice

           That “this has religious sanctity”







           (and no floated titty to exercise the tongue and lips

           and mouth, to boot!)

             Metaphor malfixation

             Polygamists of that type

             Don’t waste the fertile topsoil

             Have a plethora of unbarren

             Land for the planting of seeds

GOING DOWN SWINGING                                            (94)

             Isn’t that what swingers do?                     92

             Ascribing greatness                            92

             Like gifts  to the moon

             With a crack in the middle

             Always the myth of genetic studdom!              92

             CAN’T get away from stereotypes!

             (CerwinVega, Pioneer, Crown, Nacamitchi, Sansui)

               More like a roar against silence               91

               And a whisper replied, “I don’t love you”

         He tries to widen her certainties                    94

         ……. We comply

         All these words                                      94

         All these unnecessary words

         About wishing for great poetry

         (And all I really want to say is that I love you

         and have you believe it)

             Remember this, you fuck!                         92

             You didn’t marry me to suck.

             Half of your cock is mine!

             That part, I take care of just fine.

               Secret sex is a thrill                         91

               If you like dishonesty

               Picture poetry paints

               Pretty lies of sunset sex

               Sometimes, soothes

         In France,                                           94

         You demand

         An answer, in English,

         Say “There are no Frenchmen”

         When they just look at you.

         From a French brothel

         You stomp away

         When she refuses

         Your demand to

         “Show your tits in English”

             For widows                                     92

             I will kiss

             The walls of their


             With yellow paint and

             A pleasant yellow smile

         Your husband made such a fuss about your diary           94

         And you, of course, sent it to me

         Happy, nappy                                         94



         That incite

         Desperate freedom

         Stabs from



             Up the light

             Public streets

             Of my hosiery

         Same old Sunday morning                              94

         Latex in satin sheets

         Cages of squealing cockatiels

         Teal highcut gown, cut and ripped

         Until it was lowcut and then lost

         And tomorrow will be another same old

         Monday, going shopping for formal wear

         Heplophobes                                          94

         Try to outlaw

         My feminine mystique

               And planets explode                            91

               In her hungry mouth

         Lank,                                                94

         For a second,

         I thought I had spoken

         For the third time

         With an inch between my legs

         Indelibly wounded

         Abstract expressionism

         No!  No!  No!








         House symbols                                        94

         More cracks

         To lick with love’s


         Painted with spittle

         Sinking into the soft foundation

         Of mortality

         The center sagging

         In a wide gaping smile

             You told me that prophets said                   92

             That the end will come

             When Zion lives for twentyfive years

             Without war, create you own hell

             On earth, make war on

             A regular schedule,

             Every time I say “I love you”

         You nibble the central vein                          94

         Of vanity

         Cinderella, shoes                                    94

         In hand, ready to trade

           Nothing satisfies

           The line

           Searching for a period

           Had to get Limas                                   93

           Between someone’s knees

         Last saltlizard                                     94

         A sex lick

         Slick sex

         On the slippery slope

         Of the passion levee

         Filled with the power

         Of the hard swat of waves

         Along the warm, lapping

         Of the ocean’s edge

         Walking along the shore                              94

         …….That’s all.

               Umbilical Amniocentesis                        91

               So much poetry is from the belly

             Cocksucker poetry                               92

             Making sperm pretty

             Bitter about the bitterness

             Of beer and poisons

             But mentioning only oysters

             Not realizing the symmetry

         My unfriend                                          94

         Ununloads his



         Scraping sperm

         From unununununder

         The unununderbrush


               Your thighs revealed a dry well                91

               Before the pump was primed

               Flaccid and frigid we made

               A lofty love

               (No hay fever here)

         Go not gently into that deep delight                 93

         Rage, rage against the rhythm of the night

         Though your limbs are long and your buns are tight

         Rage, rage against the rhythm of the night

         And go not gently into my deep delight

             Lah lah lah                                      92

             Lah lah lah

             You do put down

             Your own thoughts

             Putdown pudding

             Lah lah lah



             With runny eyes

             Lah lah lah

             You swallow


         Everything is everything?                            94

         In fantasy throes

         My lover want me to squeeze

         Out the milk that I can’t produce

         With her

             Some days deserve                                92

             A good spanking

           Meter                                              93


           Meet her




           Match tonight

           Match to ignite

           Meet her with him


           Ho hum

           Penis pounding

           Her tight drum


           Rhythm to ignite

           Match to light

           On her rhythm

           Drummer in love

           With a Metermaid

           Now that’s the ticket

         The rainbow hit the concrete                         94

         With a splat of fractured color

         And all that ever was was washed away

         In the warmth of summer rain

               Why do we all look                             91

               At our genitals

               As an excuse?

           It was any morning                                 93

           I woke up with….


             The dismal decline                               92

             Of the Dustbunny

             And Furburgers, too

         Poetic porn                                        94

         Focus that camera

         I want to see her wrinkles

               Your blowup doll                              91

               Doesn’t deflate when pricked

               Your imagination

               Doesn’t collapse when tricked

               But lack of use and frequent abuse

               Can leave a loss of function

             The musk on Fire Island                          92

             Is as thick as chicken hawks

             On the fly

         Row row row his boat                                 94

         Up a slippery stream

         Dip the oars and pick them up

         Dripping in my dreams

         A Brief History                                      94

         Got `em

         Wore `em

         Ripped `em with my teeth

         (Used `em to polish my shoes)

             You turned on                                    92

             Your stereo to imitate

             The rhythm I couldn’t match

             You sat

             And shaved…….

             So, fucking what?

         They wrote bad poetry                                94

         Taking me completely by surprise

         Each fucking time

             I will never fear Summer                         92

             Nor falling faint in humidity

             Your A/C love keeps me chilly

               Drag your bra and panties on me like a cave        91

               Full of the same bats.

               She wasn’t a lesbian, just looking

               How deep into love can we go                   91

               Before we admit we were not blind

               In the midnight meadow?

             Music, tongue                                    92


             Brandy dream

             Sticky dress,


             Hot piano

             I prefer dewberries                              92

             Crawling along the pasture

             Under the grass in the bushes

             Gone in two weeks

             Pandora has brown eyes                           92

             This time

         Pretend emotion                                      94

         With a pseudo name

         “And away go troubles down the drain”

             I say that everything is a woman                 92

             Nothing is outside of femininity

             Or the feminine domain, nothing.

       MEN BALK

         Trying for earthquakeinspired                       94

         Resurrection, trying to pull out

         Of a deep pussy willow sleep



             I’m a saddlestapled                             92

             Matte card

             Cover girl

             Fuzzy but fun

         Sticky goo                                           94

         On his fat stomach,

         Oncetreasured sperm

           Marriages                                          93

           Only a certain

           Amount of syllables

               Woman, buy your seeds in a Burpee Catalogue        91

               For all your fertile attempts to cultivate

               That belching, incontinent man

             We make music with the tools                     92

             We swing or sit on or vibrate or hum into

             Peggy’s peonies in warming bathwater             92

             Jazz cat lapping mama’s milk                     92

         You can’t copyright pictures you create              94

         In other peoples’ heads

         Paint your woman’s walls                             94

         With meaning and truth

             Wrong moon, right moon, it’s still the moon          92

             We fell in love under

             Ants in our underwear

             Doubletalk doublestandard doubledipped dick        92

             He rubbed me with atomic balm                    92

             I blew up and hit the ceiling

         Stairs stares sinking in                           94

         Ah, what the fuck  looking up my dress

         I won’t tell you                                     94

         You must see me

         Flashing you but

         I love that look

         Of surprise

         Niagara Agoraphobia                                  94

         Doubt in a box

         Plunging vaccinations

         Against the roar of


             Evil playgrounds waiting                         92

             Niagara calling

             Wave crochets the wind

             Earth blushing, frost crawling

             And I sit writing, frightened,

             Inundated, undated, dated, ate D Ted Ed D

         He slipped away                                      94

         Loud, abruptly, like the cork

         He so favored in his red wine.

         I sniffed and sipped but passed

         On that old bottle

         Fashion  some lines                                94

         That show your tits

         And make Elsa


               So what, to your artsyfartsy abstraction?          91

               Three naked girls used to dance

               In the bouncing geometric refraction

               When the four o’clock sun hit all the cut crystal

               Every afternoon, in the windows of Rainbow Time,

               Running colors colliding on sweet young flesh

             Mobius                                           92


             For his pleasure

               I sucked your toes                             91

               You sucked mine

               Then you went home

               And wrote down lies.

             Bare feet                                        92

             Inserted into the maiden


         Tight voice                                          94


         Drippings of dew

         Off leaves


         Drenched in muted


         A Vision of Cal                                      94


         Zipping up

         My miniskirt




         His breathing


         Hairpie Discrete                                     94

         Munch, munch

         Eat a world

         Lunch, lunch

         With a girl

         I don’t care

         How much you weigh

         I’ll lunch and munch you everyday

         The same essential stillness                       94

         A brassiere cutting off circulation

             Pompoms and poems                                92

             On pretty legs

             In pretty lines of

             Please, release me!

         Fickle musiclover                                    94

         Haunted by the ghosts

         Of one note after another

         Haunted, exorcised, haunted, exorcised

         Because there has to be something

         To fill the silences

               Rumors of the Ball                              91

               Bounce off of her

               Champagnestained gown.

               A drunken nose sniffs her cleavage

               During a short waltz

               Arms and shouts all around

               2 seconds to go.  1 point down

               And Akheem throws to Samson….

               Shit!  Missed alleyoop(s).

         Let’s go, you and I                                   94

         Like a yoyo and a dodo

         To the brink of our love

         Or maybe to the Stop and Go

             A sip of tension lessened                       92

             Left lifted, absence took us,

             Our glasses left grazing her

             Thundercloud toockus

               Men                                             91

               To smell you is to

               Want to sneeze and cough,

               Hold perfumed fingers

               Under my nose, while


         The second month plus one second                      94

         Of separation

               Talking to Plants                               91

               I love you still

               Shriveling, losing rigidity

               Or turgid tonnage, filled with life fluid.

               I wet you down and purr to you

               And say how pretty you are

               But I never seem to treat you

               Nicely enough

               To get you to buy that new, yellow car

             I’ll bet someone there                            92

             Was staring at your tits and ass

         Liquor                                                94

         Left no room to

         Lick her

         Spinning, spinning, spun

             Hot Dog                                           92

             “Lain out naked and long”

             Without a good bun

             I wished there were catsup,

             Mustard, but most of all,


             Braless                                           92

             Does the best poetry

             Speak “best

             With its body?”

           Hey, hand me a twenty,                              93

           I’ll give you a wink.

           For thirty, I’ll wink

           At you …. in Spanish.

           Hey, Masochist!  I’ll give you a sharp kiss         93

           A lah lah lah                                       93

           A dee dee dee

           I want to be



         With not always tongue in cheek                       94

         But, at least, tongue in twat poetry

               Memories of Max?                                91

               Thrill me to the min

               You know, that’s just a few blocks away

               From farago

               Where he flashed, reflected

               In your polished, silver bowl

               Like a ladle

         Come share my yearning                              94

         For… well, not hurricanes nor watermelon

           Lens Occlusion                                    93

           Hunter with scope

           Thinks he’s bigger

               The nurses talk about snakes                  91

               Remembering the giant ones

               And the little ones

               And those that were very different

               Maybe the brightlycolored ones

               Or those that were some sort of first

               But don’t remember the last

               One they see before they’re bitten?

               Dr. Spock’s Little Monsters                   91

               Some, twisted, turn

               On the memorized road

               Of “for a nickle I will

               Blow up the toll gate.”

             Confetti silk                                   92

             Incipient stone

             Catfight clammor

             We’re both in love

             With the same woman,

             Inside us

         Pinched nose                                        94

         Between his crack

         Two birds with one


         Rowing into Summer darkness                         94

         In only briefs,

         He calls himself, “Poet”

               From the “girth of expulsion”                 91

               I go “pop”

         Automotive Mother Goose                             94

         Fairy tales for women

         And a few sensitive men

         (The rest of the sensitive men

         Can run home to mama

         Like the crybabies they are)

         These bubbles glistening down                       94

         My bosom are my toys, my treasure,

         My perimeter.  These baubles glittering

         On my bosom are …..

         Men want them

         Removed before they see me

             Lick my coins?                                  92

         Hubbybubby                                         94

         You’re a froggie!

         Happy anniversary

         Okay, if I agree                                    94

         That there’s no use

         That all is lost,

         Will you still strive

         To be a cunning linguist?

         Will you test your talent on me?

             To control your man,                            92

             Fake frustration

           To dam or not to dam                              93

           That is the fishy question

               Such landscape                                91

               Such sun

               Such an open door

               But, where’s the

               “Girl in the white wetsuit?”

         She ladys her headlights into me like               94

         Bumper car cushions, her electrical switch expertise,

         The way she fingers it should convince me

         She’s got a man

         Wants the switch deep inside

         Guided only by Chilton’s

         Her book of turnons and turnoffs

             Cramped smile                                   92

             Is like a

             Cramped simile

         Did I hear you correctly?                           94

         Did you say

         “Sing a song

         And suck my cock?”

         The spirit of her tits                              94


         A rest

           I whisper,                                        93

           “I don’t care what you call yourself

           If you’re not my own little twatlicker

           And if you are, the victory

           Is not in saying you’ve been there, done that”

         No, it’s not true;                                  94

         Women of color do not have longer tongues

         Father’s Lesson                                     94

         All love is precious

         Bitter about the bitterness?                        94

         But you don’t feed your man on the right diet

         Of love and exercise and tenderness

         Ah, well, who needs sugar?  You can always buy it.

         There is no “other side” to my biography.           94

         I’m open to all

         To That Lazy Librarian                              94

         If you’d been doing your job

         She wouldn’t need picturebooks

         About pregnancy

         She would have read from lines like mine

         About what a GRAND time

         It is to be on your knees, pumping out sperm,

         On your back, ingesting injustice

         And how we’re made to pay and pay and pay

         For the pleasure

               At my poetry readings                         91

               I do a table dance to pronounce

               The beauty of the line

               Of my legs and hips

               To accentuate the body of my work,

               Because men (and most women) will listen to nipples

               Stuck out in the middle of a teeshirt line

           I crawl into the horn of her trumpet              93

           To reach the stars

         Let me blow my hot air                              94

         Over your


             Sucking bronze statues,                         92

             I lose the flesh features

             Of the man that he is,

             Deny him his humanity

             By denying the truth

             Of beauty

             Objectifying metal

             Like men aren’t able to

             They’re the romantic ones.

             I don’t care about flowers,

             Just like to watch them pose

             And crawl

         Unsulky Sue                                         94

         Licking all the sweetness

         Off of

         Your sugardaddy’s lust

             Like The Last Defender                          92

             He waited in my fox hole

             All day

             Knew of nothing else to do

             A good mount                                    92

             Does not hang, after being hunted down,

             Dead, against the wall,

             Sometimes, isn’t even horny

           I ask men for their secrets                       93

           To expose them

           Before they expose themselves

             Teeshirt Poetry                                92

             “Up mine!”

           You have to admit                                 93

           Everyone is crazy,

           Completely insane,

           Hopelessly lost in the ozone,

           So, let’s fuck, huh?