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I guess

I will let that man 

come follow 

hunt me down


that one can breathe down my neck

he can grab my arm

pull me towards his ribs

against the length of his belly


I watch his lazy step, unhurried

his eyes sizing me up

down my body


I said—no sex

I know he does not listen

they never do

Broken Compass

Tell me time and again

how I am—your Beatrice 

—such a sweet lie.

I smile at the sentiment, 

then explain 

I cannot be a muse—I'm a woman.  

Can you hear me, darling? 

Your rose blush cheeks, childlike tears

barren promises

all your efforts to help me—give in.

I don't want to be seduced, not into this

but I love watching you try—so hard. 

You and your handsome young brow.

The North Star of all misguided desire.

Weather Forecast


candle burning on a quiet winter afternoon 

my face towards the window—as always

fire burns my soul, but no poetry comes 



floor is ice here on winter mornings

first sight of my face in the mirror

I remember us



you vowed you wrote three letters explaining everything

through snow, I walk to the mailbox every day

no deliveries 


spring comes early

 Not A Sappho

Let me not be a legend of Sappho

forlorn and dejected

wandering through unknown orchards

leaning over cliffs, desolation erasing her mind. 


Let Me be divine Artemis

moving swiftly through the summer woods

wearing nothing but a weapon

stooping at the stream—sun kissed and delighted. 


Cool waters rush over her runners’ feet

graceful hands washing her huntress body

smiling, sovereign, looking

at the blooming myrtle, catching two staring eyes.

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