a million kind of women

There are a million kinds of women in the world
a million kinds million kinds
in the world there are a million kinds
a million kinds of women

Some honeydrip love
feel like you did
when your breath smelled titwarm
on mother’s milk

Some cradle girltime fears
deep into womanhood
& form walls & firebreaks
& roots to stumble on

Some pass on the street
smelling of fresh cut cucumber
or butterfly laden
tangerine blossoms

Some achingly beautiful
& some ache for beauty
& some ache from beauty
& some never know

Some sharp edged & bright bladed
& they cut
& cut & you
beg to bleed

there are 2 kinds of women in the world
2 kinds
those I’ve forgotten &
those I can’t forget

Top 10 tips — for poets (or the open mike lament)

An image a cut flower —
two possibilities
fresh & dead

Line breaks
don’t make
prose — poems

1st word is the best word is
the best way
— for a 1st draft

A poem isn’t a gazelle
— it’s a dead fish
for sustenance sauté
to make it leap electrify
—with 12,000 volts
otherwise it will just lie there and stink

A poem can survive w/out rhythm
or rhyme — but then
you could survive
on bread and wine
in a windowless room

If all your poems sound
the same you
‘ve only written one poem

You can’t transcend what
you’ve never held
Find form 1st
abandon after

Don’t let your tools
rust from disuse
— don’t be afraid to break them.

If it doesn’t add it — doesn’t add it — doesn’t add it
if it doesn’t add —doesn’t add — doesn’t add
If it doesn’t add it doesn’t add
it subtracts

Just because it
happened to you it
doesn’t mean it’s
interesting

sawboned

phantom limb love

hookworm underskin itch

meatworld shaped by negative space

ain'tness outpowers is

Ocelot Peachfish

trip your fingers down my song

tulipbulb my vertebrae

slipknot throb through cock & bone

dip me down an eyelit bay

 

 

frailcap crushed by water weight

nailed to the deck of a capillary ship

hail me by your jetstreamed whisper

exinhale through fingertips

An Ode to the Poet who has Been Kicking my Ass All Week

 

 

nobody

 

hey ee cummings

yous got me humming

witda verses (and stylez) that u

right

 

nobody, not even

 

u - fresh frunt to back

me – slashandburn hack

I roar-roar:red instead of pale

contrite

 

nobody, not even the rain, has

 

difficult  dense

yous plays with spilling and tense

until a  (sudden) line elegant —— sweet like  a newlywed

night

nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands