Shooting Range
I'm wary of short men
like a gun somebody else is holds
never take their word it's empty
check the chamber yourself
that's where people make mistakes.
Short men make assumptions
I'm a small woman they say
"we'd fit just right honey
wouldn?t you like to find out?
Not everything?s little about me."
I've had big and I've had just right
in the bright daylight sunburning
on my back in the shadow cast
in the dark where a cat's a cat
they all leave their mark.
I like to watch a tall man
walk away from me real slow
he won't talk about fit when
he sizes you up for a ride
he wants to see you smile.
Girl, check the chamber every time
they'll tell you anything
short or tall when they want to
show you their gun
you gotta be smart about it.
**********************************************
Stunned mystic
Plunged into significant shock
failing as I roll downhill
toward ice water clarity
I am unstoppable unwilling unable
to achieve joy intimacy
awake at 3 am typing fears
onto white screens named
spelled-correct devining devices
Julian of Norwich never dreamed
Poor Claire never imagined
I am the oracle of my future and it is full
bleakly packed with chatter sleep-deprived anxiety
devoted to those who do not refresh my soul
no time for organization meditation
application of principles I admire aspire to
no moment to ponder mystic voices
haunting half-asleep twilight fog.
Preparing recipes in night kitchens dark
love of sensation instinct guiding hands
tongues best left for kissing tasting
resurrection sensual ascension stimulation
eat the host as if it were the man as if
bite the tender mouth to taste ourselves
we are the holy ones we are the witches
seers mad daughters we sit moon's edge
naked but for modest convenient clouds.
My mother is lost in my memory
I hardly think of her as real though
I speak her name everyday it is more gasp
and reach for God in eyes I never looked into
if I made her happy one day on the earth
I do not know when it was.
**********************************************
I wanted to marry the famous poet
until someone told me he was gay.
That's not really a problem,
it's not as if it hasn't been done but...
there goes charming him into my bed.
I'll have to lure him with convenience,
strong work ethic, supporting the arts
by supporting the artist, giving up
my career so he might live unshackled.
Settling for secondary status knowing
there could be a book in it, or movie.
I will show him my poetry, vagina driven
and bloody, let him bless my coming out female
oppressed, blooming by his attendance.
He would find comfort on my bosom,
when fickle young men move on,
I have been abandoned, too.
Eggs benedict and champagne
for visiting lovers, we spare no expense,
I would take a woman to please him,
or to please myself. We will be liberal
in all things, my poet and I.
There might be rumors and vicious talk,
I will be loyal, standing by, he is my man,
his men mine also. I open the door.
Read the mail, screen his calls.
There is more to marriage than beds.
**********************************************
Declaration of dependence
I love a tall bald man
who spits on sidewalks
has gray tufts and experience
frets in night shift overtime
creating complex episodes
and difficult adventures.
His Brylcream memories scratch
through the hair shirt he wears
because he never pleased himself
always waiting for an enchanted kiss
from a smooth skinned Cinderella
lips dry but hope intact.
Sometimes he lets me love him
from the other side of the table
we both believe in something
unbearable truth and righteous need
certain things we say comfort
troubled souls like ours.
Rocks will be removed soon enough
when fields must be cleared
it is little trouble to be patient
whole gardens grow from minute seeds
lush vines hang on and hold tight
becoming part of the fences they embrace.
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