In 2010, when I was in the midst of my Renaissance–and a Creative Writing course at UCONN–it occurred to me that the intense craving I once had for a person in my life was akin to an addiction to fast food. Poetry is the ultimate playground for such inspirations, relying heavily on metaphors and abstractions …
Apr 09 2018
Mar 28 2016
I wrote this poem in late spring/early summer 2015. I was struggling at the time with feeling ineffectual: like my actions were not only unhelpful, but had the exact opposite effect of what I intended. In my attempts to assist others, I felt, instead, toxic–that everything I touched turned to crap. I jotted …
Jun 02 2015
Why do you always feel so inevitable?*
The step that must be taken, mind willing or not. Entwined with my soul, you cannot be extricated …and I don’t want you to be.
I want to plunge into that abyss and swallow you whole. I want to wrap my arms around you and explore where you take me. …
Apr 30 2015
want desperately, but cannot have… run away. new identity-new life-new love
a dream phasing in and out… focus focus focus
i don’t want to anymore
let the current carry me where it leads no yesterday-no tomorrow- just here, now—all.
lungs burn throat dry i cannot straddle two worlds anymore.
i am tired.
fall fall fall …
Feb 19 2015
Melting in my pool of unfulfilled fantasy; I will never know your tongue now.
I was desired once. I think. The cherry on the top of a sultry sundae.
Did I made your teeth ache– a sickeningly sweet saccharine– and you lost your taste for me?
Did your favored flavor change to something more exotic? …
May 09 2014
Jul 25 2011
Amidst stacked scarlet strawberries, purply pomegranate pyramids and orgasmic origami oranges– visions of perfection, tempting one to capture their eternal essence– is a deeper, darker secret.
This is not a food store.
Bushes of vivid green broccoli in prickly pineapple forests stand guard, their hair a mess: sentries shielding the secret.
This is not a …
Mar 24 2011
My nearly-6-year-old is a budding poet. I discovered this gem in the living room (not hidden with the lettuce, mind you):
Ow samwich you are sow boown you are sow tase…
Let me translate:
Oh sandwich, you are so brown, you are so tasty…
I am so proud! My own mini-poet in the pantry! …
Dec 07 2010
The flower, growing out of the waste of the world— Beauty in darkness and filth, Blooming in spite of adversity. Springing from a crack in the sidewalk— Somehow surviving trampling feet, Pissing dogs, plucking children, and perpetual heat. The crimson petals of unknown passion, Unfurling with grace; shy and cautious, Exposing the secrets within. Once …
Nov 13 2010
I am that bleached-blonde robin red-breast, gulping golden glasses every Thursday night: siren of spring to some, boring bird to others, desperate to be noticed.
I am that bird of paradise, perfumed and primped, old men perched next to her, parroting their prose– eager for a f***ing frenzy, despite the gleaming golden talon.