water into wine

there are nights

I don’t give a damn

if Elvis ever sang anything

but Kentucky Rain

art death Uncategorized writing

when it rains in springtime

most days i hate you

but when it rains in springtime

i miss you

nina simone crying that she gets along without you very well

i will never achieve indifference

but neither will you


we’re even


inky black

late december sleet

chinking into my coffee mug

sizzle as it strikes inky black

lovers friends family

lingering coughs

colorful bouquets

of ribbon-tied detritus

spent coffee grounds

baby shoes

bullet holed maps

torn veils

stained sheets

broken lamps

joints ache of the past

wet poetry swells books

with burning arthritis 

analysis art behavior poetry psychology

cloudy with a chance of suck

he made it rain

into my every

coffee cup

Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends writing

the underside of an orchid

the southern girl in me
always wanted a lover
with a big truck
to chauffeur
my city ass around in

for our excursion to the country
that rainy summer day
i had chosen
a dress
cut from the fabric of 1951
covered in teal and violet flowers
…one that always makes me feel beautiful
when i wear it

baubles adorning
my neck
ear lobes

ballet flats on my feet

legs crossed into
the middle of the intersection

red light glaring
through heat lightning
his foot on the brake

he turned to look at me
with two divorces in his eyes
as though i was redemption
sent from a forgiving heaven

his fingers found my exposed thigh
as he confessed,

“your skin is softer
than the underside of an orchid…

and the fact that
little blown glass
blue n’ purple ring on your hand
matches your dress
is almost
too much
to take…”


baby, we aren’t going to make it to the party

we were darting down 5th avenue
heels and wing tips
seeking shelter from the rain
beneath each elegantly willing awning

when he decided i should experience
the finery new york’s art world had to offer

pulling me by the waist
through the glass doors of The Neue Galerie

my body slammed into the whitest of walls
trench coat and mouth forced open
we fuck-clawed each other
into an abstract painting

as a cocktail party roared upstairs
over midnight oil
singing beds are burning

poetry Short Stories Uncategorized

the wisdom of last night’s lipstick

i walk along the street
with widow’s ankles

beneath an umbrella of spider webs
and butterfly wings

the wisdom of last night’s lipstick

passed unadorned doorways

watching the
ornamental cherry lanterns
hanging from trees
drip autumn rain


leaves who have lost their desire
to retain chlorophyll

exposing bloody red motives
cast to a barrel for burning

our love affair boarded up in the summer house

the light is giving way to tones of decline
a soft funereal glow

i kiss the lamp posts to ignite their fire

a sapphire ring upon my finger
tucked into a pocket of london fog

this is the time of year
memory holds court

as we mourn the never wills
and the never was