The Art inMe

if you could just dare

to fuck the art in me

the kind of sex

that would put

us both on fire.

the part where you

never leave in

the morning. i

disappoint you

all the time,

with my past,

my present,

my unstable future.

if you could just dare

to love me,

none of it would even matter.



From my poetry book, see link below.

Visions of the Future

Sleep disorders are common

being awake is difficult

when you see your past float by

as if you were on a ship

waving good bye.

Take me to a small deserted town

and lock me down

no escape plan

small grocery lists

and the visions of the future

are written across the sky

deciphered by so-called artists

who see mamas and papas

in drugstore alleyways

dreaming of all the times

Oklahoma had hurricanes

in yesterday’s tomorrow.

Pass the whiskey

down the line

of tortured souls

the b-line to the exit

gets longer

the scars deeper

the wounds shout out in haiku

too short for shelter

bring me shelter

the future looks too good

to handle

too sweet to taste

i can see its brilliance

not sure i want it now.

My translator

Everyone struggles with the other side of the grass

is it green

is it the future

of the deep driven past

repeat, shuffle, play

life, songs

music every fucking day.

Off to another town

to play the role of how we go up

and fall hard down

onto the bed with you

in my high heels shoes

and nothing else.

You do not have to love me at all

as much as I use it

I don’t.

So many may say it better than me

so many may be prettier

or smarter

or uglier

or closer

and yet here we are

in the same room

no one else can see us

my eyes on yours

and yours on mine

who cares about the wallet

or the cars we drive

or the typing in my head.

Let go the pain

and let me keep on loving your insane


I knew it from the start

to run

but you kept on pulling my hand

painting the road yellow

fanning my stress

massaging my lower back

digging deep inside me with your


I still run fast

I need to

I’m made that way

like a statue coming alive

so cold

so bloody hot.

It’s merely rings on my fingers

gifts from the past

nights made of hot lust

wedding night drunks

it’s all or nothing

nothing or all

it’s my heart

my mind

my soul

that confide

to each other

my keyboard the translator.