myths & legends

is a concept
invented by
a pharmaceutical

poetry psychology

broom in hand

we southerners

have perfected the art

of filtering grand disappointment

through exquisite love


we all have a special oriental rug

just for sweeping things under

crime domestic violence film non-fiction poetry

i said i don’t want no cake, ike

how tranquil

it must be

sailing along

in the good ship right

upon a sea of wrong


that’s the blistering irony

about know-it-alls



and candy coated pricks

who demonstrate

impervious response


they have a choice

whether or not

they acknowledge

their dysfunction

yet they leave us



Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends writing

drink the ocean

the one thing i know
how to build with my hands
i learned in eighth grade industrial arts

if you give me raw wood
a table saw with a router
a miter saw
a bit of wood glue
a plane sander
clear varnish
i will build for you
a beautiful little beveled edge box
with brass hinges
and a hasp lock

but this day
i intend to construct one
for myself
designed for securely containing
three things

this poem
the straw that broke the camel’s back
and my suicide

you see
my soul died this morning
i gave up

but i am a mother with autistic
18 year old twin sons
who loves them enough
to allow her heart to continue to beat

i love them enough to remain alive
i know to do this
because my father didn’t

i love them enough to keep blood
in these arms that hold them
when they are screaming and crying
and blaming me for giving them autism
by virtue of my having been the one
who gave birth

telling them
if we can
just survive the hormonal high school years
everything will be alright

one of them hides his asperger’s from everyone
at school in a futile attempt to fit in
but he’s only hiding the words
the label of autism
his actions let people know he’s not typical
so when he stares too long
or has a face void of expression
they just think he’s a creepy jerk
so he keeps getting in trouble
because he won’t say
“i have asperger’s don’t take it the wrong way,
i don’t mean any harm”
because he says
“i would rather be called
an asshole
than a retard”

the other one
is resistant to everything
but eating and sleeping
rules are what you break
when mom isn’t looking
he thinks
so long as he says the right words
to her face
no matter if it breaks her heart
because there is no synapse that fires
between his behavior
and the consequences thereof

this morning i realized
i am attempting to drink the ocean
pissing into the wind
nothing i do
will ever be enough

but i do not have the option of giving up
i have to keep banging my head into these walls
until i am bloody
as this is my lot

this little wooden box i shall build
of my pledge to go on with my life
to continue to fight

these words contained within it
are my coping mechanism

because in my zombie heart
i know
it is better
than my entire body
being placed into
into a finely crafted
pine box

Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends writing

antacid tablets

this could be a poem
about failure
in love
my career or lack thereof
first female presidential aspirations
gone awry

i was born too late
to be joan of arc
or marie curie

it could be about divorcing twice
and how that precludes a third try
the way i’m not my father
or my mother

a sonnet about autism
what having twin teenagers
who live
inside an alternate reality is like
and the sudden image
of sissy spacek in carrie
when your parenting method
need be applied

stretch marks
grand addictions

bourbon goes in your mouth so willingly,
have you noticed?

panties fall off so easily

those two may be interconnected

student loans
shotgun wedding consumerism
single parent economics

fried green tomatoes
leading to an existential crisis

a closet full of pricey heels
and clutch purses
wishing they were
hiking boots,
sturdy jeans,
and pocket knives

it could be about some piece of shit
who dicked me over

or someone i put the screws to
being thoughtless

it’s funny the damage one can do
without even trying

in southern families
the way
needing a bassinet
is more tragic
than needing a casket

but it’s not
it’s not about any of that

this poem is about gratitude
for all i’ve been spared and given

this poem is the thundering cry
of one human
sent crashing skyward into stars
for god to exist
if not for me
for my loved ones and friends

this poem is about living to write this