This was a hard one. It took days to realize what I wanted to say, and in the form of a sonnet. I still didn’t follow the rules, but I’m slowly getting there.


As gentle as an embrace, tender as in the
tenor of a song. Delicate as the eagerness of
blooming flowers. We can reciprocate care
especially in times of extreme social isolation.
We always had it in us to express comfort in
this place where living has made you tough
and reject the gift of closeness. As so much
separates us, there are offerings of solicitude.
As mutual aid is the buoy for our times.
Leveling a compassion we seek. As wanting to
trust while staring back an abyss becomes a
meandering of the past where you can no
longer live. Tomorrow it maybe will be different,
but today I dance with songs of embrace, with all the flowers.



To survive these uncertain days
like the times when the earth reigns
and being without shelter from the starkness
of nature and you walked for hours in its cold
downpour wondering when it would stop and
you’ll see the sun again. Like the times the
quiet snow kept collecting into a mountainside
of slush you’d trudge through with cold feet
and hands tethered to a memory/thought
of when it was once warm. When it would be
warm again. I tell myself that these days are
the same as those days of trepidation. And
soon you’d laugh again, you will so loudly
that you weep new lessons on survival.


As a way of maintaining my mental health during this scary time, I wrote another reaction poem about the virus. I was attempting to write a sonnet but it ended up being free verse. Next time, as I really want to write something outside of my comfort zone.


Afraid to touch an extended hand
a reach for some sameness, while touch can
be a compassion, a sense for being in a sea of
unknowns. How to navigate through the dark?
How do you survive the sickness from touch
too close to where comfort becomes lost?
You wash your hands so much they peel
new information of an already coarse design


With lightning speed
ripping through infinity
I hear your clacking hooves
Your cursed truth
charging ivory horn
chasing your prophecy
Your heaving mist
attacks the air
Your feral mane
tremors in grace
I see your red demon eyes
ignite for the horizon
Black Unicorn.

This was inspired by David Bowie’s ‘Tis a Pity She Was a Whore from his latest album Blackstar. Rest in power Mr. Bowie.


Yes Mommy Dearest

One of my pet-peeves is seeing people standing around doing nothing.

Then spin

a wheel of string
rope to play hangman with
buy time making
cardboard sleeves

just in case

drench a spineless shirt wet
without purpose
groove a grave in.

Hot coffee burns
lukewarm finger tips
nervously preparing
another lie–

There’s always something to be


Go Here!!

Swab slabs for red tape feelers
appearing in the dark
early morning’s stock rooms

after-hour cheap cockroaches
re-stock stocked shelves
a different kind of vermin
catches clockwise
the wheel churning
dynamic stale Splenda

an apron in slow motion
a smorgasbord of the top ten
most talented
next showcase:

Insecure Specials
events in Crayola:

Italian Panini
amused eyeballs
Cuban Sub
Cajun Chicken
clapping to attention

Big smiles at the door
clean floor needing a good scrub.

Cotton Candy

Catch me when
I’m not an awkward butterfly
lighting almost on the exhausted hibiscus
a weary comfort for a glimpse
an imprint on the fading sun

Catch me when
I’m not a bitter blue caged parrot
calling out for jack daniels like my owner
not owning a thing but a feathery bird

Catch me when my cliche is filled
jelly rolled happy joy, sunshine sprinkles
too consumed with sugary goodness of opposites.

Do parallels meet in the infinite demise of one?
Do we call them an equilibrium?
a  jelly roll, then a shot of jack?

How I Became a Sucker

No one spoke to me in the dark
as I blindly walked alone
feeling for the comfort of fine

where all the anti-depressants
presses an invention of self
that everyone doubts

a fake smile slowly appeases
your eternal want of being pleased
when the magnitude of instability
reigns in my joker doubt


not flowers with their imagined hearts
not tending to exploding boobs on a brutish hand
not fabricating in my favorite telenovela
all made-up like an ironic trophy wife
does nothing but make me
miss all the sex…

I want you in the morning
while you’re all dirty
before you claim your discovery
covering your stems, trampling your pieces
filling them with the sum of this sickle tree.

I want you in the morning
while you’re all dirty
so I can feel by some miracle
I can feel like I can touch you

before we’re both filled with this fruitless mirage
this purposeful pursuit for the world’s perfection
where everything seen is judged whole.

Rejection Letter #1

I received it in the mail today
my very thin self-addressed envelope
not today I said out loud, not today
for you see, I’ve already felt the day to day
crippling blow, as I made my trek through
the drudges, through the thick mundane
automatic motions.  I have failed as a robot.
Regardless, I thought and grinned for chance
there’s still the possibility…  Aah yes the optimist
with her tireless audacity, with her juvenile beliefs
full of maybes, could be dreams floating like clouds
waiting to be caught, oblivious to the message in the
note starkly staring back: thank you, but no thanks.


Image by kiwinky via Flickr

As you turn away skipping
away with my sensibilities

my potential, I’m left with nothing
but a long for a time when I didn’t desire

to feel a breath as much as yours
your laughter haunting the corridors  

the ghost mirrors the absence, I ware it like naked jewelry
naked jewelry of bones on display of my limbed soul.

I needed that what I gave to you
I struggle without it, my diadem

you accepted without knowing
how precious a self is to give away

not keeping something for me…
You didn’t want me anyway…


Organ adapted for use in Häggström diagrams
Image via Wikipedia

And now, shoulders crouch
as if to say my rib cage was useless
as my heart no long lives there.
It is theirs, theirs to marvel as it skips
to beat faster as they appear through 
mirrors. I am still living as if it were present
but if you look inside my skeleton you’d see
you’d see that I’m now cold and crude
broken, broken without my heart
oh Lord I miss you, I miss you, oh Lord.

Inside my Terrane

You couldn’t possibly know how much you mean to me
you couldn’t possibly know, even as I try to tell you
limited by the expression of a syntax, I’m left with a lisp
trying to pronounce joy.  I’m only a jester with failing hands
a useless mime, forever maimed by the unforgiving allusion 
the imagination of life without you.

Looks inside a Skeleton

Save Yourself                                                             Life Jacket

How can I feel thank-ful-ness                    self preservation, something I should have
while I’ve arrived at survival and you didn’t?  learned, been aware of by the time I was teething

How can I move pass the memory                  especially while I’ve absorbed the ugliness
when we both were gasping for air?                  breathing out its dead, its shivering debris.

They never say to give up your oxygen mask                 As a child, you’re never allowed a say
in fact they strongly advise you against it.           unless you have a good law guardian:

Before attempting anything                                I must understand directions
you must first be breathing.                                and consider how cruel self preservation
                                                                        can be.

But then, once I’ve put my oxygen mask on                   It is like while one is drowning and
and you’re left stranded for air, I watch you try to speak without a thought, you reach for

I watch you escape into the open, into oblivion              slapping  for anything afloat, and      
I fight and scream for you to stay with me.                       then grab on,
                                                                                               push, push, push down for air,

                                                                                            for life.


Attachment is Such a Hard Thing to Undo.

No more inquisitive brown eyes
to stare into and lose myself.

No more little ears to measure.
No more love songs to sing, because no one is listening.

No more dimpled smiles.
No more of her laughter, grabbing my attention.

No more flippers for feet
with flipper covers reaching to her knees.

No more secret language to make up
and joke about amongst ourselves.

No more soft kisses to have in the morning
waking me up from my slumber.

No more gentle caress of the middle of my back.
No more love to make during the late hours.

No more dreams to have of little ones playing in our backyard.
No more dreams to have of us growing together.

No more recipies to try.
No more spoons to lick.

No more you to teach me things.
No more coozied drunken debates.

No more you to admire naked in the sunlight.
No more you to watch sleep in the moonlight.

No more you to come home to.
No more home to come to.

No more time.
No more love.


The first day of Summer, when parks are peopled
we smile at each other for no particular reason
other than the darkness has been lifted
like we were taking off our clothes.
Funny though, since we’re ashamed of the sight
of nakedness.  But here we are when the air is thick
and bodies play in the sun barely clothed.
We are exhibitionists teasing each other
and ourselves with these desires.

And ah 1, 2, 3, 4… Version 2

play that guitar
hit me that drum
forget de cost
for living hike

forget money
tight, grab lover
spin her around
sing she something

nothing too nice
let she feel de
heat, and yelp
holler all night

play that guitar
hit me that drum
forget de cost
for living hike

lets howl and dance
to the moon light
lets howl and dance
til the sunrise

clap those hands, shim
shimmer those hips
clap those hands, shim
shimmer those hips

kick those boots off
let me kiss you
on the lips, pinch
you on the thigh

spin you around
tell you i love
you three times, babe
you are all mine

And ah 1, 2, 3, 4…

play that guitar, hit that drum
grab your partner, pass de rum
forget de cost of living hike
forget how money tight.

grab your partner, spin her around
clap your hands, sing me a song
sing me something not too sweet
sing me something that feels my heat.

play that guitar, hit that drum
grab your partner, but pass me de rum
clap your hands, sing a song
nothing too sweet, but feels de heat.

forget de cost of living hike
forget how money so tight
lets dance to de moon light
lets dance til the morning light.