not sure where this one came from-perhaps my own childhood brown-eyed doll experience- thank you


a flat world where things sometimes roll off

sitting at my kitchen table–
a flat world where things sometimes roll off
‘thoughts’ cram my vapid head
never to disappoint, there she is my gooey, ‘Annie Oakley’
the incessant ‘creative’ cowgirl who rides my bulging brain every morning
trying her ‘Wild West’ best to lasso bucking words
working up quite a sweat she is, as I so often do trying to be ‘clever’
I’ve no chance of corralling these wild beasts
wax fences are nonexistent in my vacant mind
the most ‘insightful’ prose gallop directly out my right ear
wax that should be in my empty head is on the kitchen table–
a flat world where things sometimes roll off
here a tiny flame–cruelly trapped in a jar–flickers
like my tongue used to so many years ago
watching the singular flame burn, I imagine it raging
but the cold fireplace is empty like my head
outside the kitchen sliders, a tiny tufted .6 ounce titmouse
enjoys the seed I loaded in the feeder
others will be along
oh yes, here they come
the heavy snow is cascading down and these frail birds are stronger
than my slumbering two hundred and fifty-five pound son at the moment
when I was little
my mom and dad served as bookends at our rectangular kitchen table
their six children, incomplete chapters
now my parents have a round table too, with obligatory leaves for visitors
no more sharp corners for any of us
oh, a beautiful red-headed woodpecker has joined the snow-ladened feast
luckily for him his long chiseled beak is as sharp as it is
otherwise, he couldn’t reach the seed
life doesn’t have to dull everything down
it is glorious to have a point sometimes
isn’t it?

curves that matter

you passed me by
it was raining
I was on the street with my head down
thinking of cleansing sidewalk grime
I saw your face warping in a slap of puddle
I know well the finite curves of your jaw
did you know that
you never knew the curves of mine

I need someone to know my curves
not the soft arc cylinders praised in romance novels
but the invisible shapes that fit one into the other
that’s what I need
I’ll say my goodbyes in this puddle
to your thoughtless lines
parallels never meeting
and lift my head when the spherical sun returns
and the dirty sidewalks sparkle



Gea drawn long ago when my name was much shorter 🙂

Triptych Closing on Mockery

is it possible to reinvent one’s self,
when creating the initial concept was agonizing
does renewal spring from where the difficulty began
or punch through the point of least resistance
do we buff the scratches out of existing relationships
or pray old human contracts voluntarily burn

can we plummet deep examining our own eyes
accepting inward mistakes and outward imperfections
newness to rise up like the phoenix
if we make this leap
will you allow us to land elsewhere
catch us if we fall nearby…

we’d like to believe anything is possible

Smiling Clown

Smiling Clown

Created a few months back. while thinking fondly of balloons…:)

your godlike neck

in the little hours before the big hand shoves me out of bed
I remember the back of your neck
a tree trunk
heaped with thick cord
all that power flattening the pillow
all that muscle on me
yet your strength
proved powerless

I too had chances
to dig into your heart with a pitchfork
with each temptation
your neck your face your voice
with this big bed as a dais
do not break us apart

then you
omitted my neck my face my voice
in those cheating moments
weren’t my flesh touches enough
my warm eyes
my open lips

I should have stayed in character
and not adored a man
who considered himself godlike


5’x5′ oil on canvas painted years ago when I claimed to be a deep thinker 🙂