Do not speak of it. Do not see me. Give what you have to give, willing or no, and don't mind the scars. The remnants of your gown, oft removed, keep us coming back for more. But, in time, you will womb a tree that reaches to Heaven. *** [Art by Zdzislaw Beksinski]


I carry scissors just for this, you know. Straddle the lacyness. Snip snip (at the seams, mind you). What's that, a bit of talc? Ah, but you feed me with dream. I lay in quandary, ear to the cotton. My dirty laundry is long forgotten.

Be my Witch

You must be my Witch In the day, you are as plain as day I think you don't see me Maybe you think I don't see you but I am good at eyes Always in your greys and tans and flats Shiny swinging hair Bottle goggles to discourage the shallow You glow from the feathers... Continue Reading →

Holding the fort

under my thumb i have felt felt then, enveloped in warmth, i have sent four soldiers as peacekeepers, with trimmed nails and an artistic bent.

No words

Looking back, I think she was afraid when I saw her truth. We had never spoken, but in the group sessions, she surprised me with split second glances and strange blushes. Then, tables turned, I made a game of trying to catch her eye. Not a single word. That's how it goes. ...and then one... Continue Reading →


The watching of bobby socks on feet with a popcorn smell. A shy face with downcast eyes and freckles. If I can coax her smile, chiclet teeth. Fine and white, but tilted funny. You drive me crazy. I videoed you at the party. Fifteen minutes. Just your feet, crossing and uncrossing. No one knew. I... Continue Reading →

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