my wings dipped in ink



the tattoo

of my skin

oh the warrior of me begins

my drumming heart beats

as needles sew deep

these stains of a beast in me

upon my external


I dig my claws deep

holding on

in my eyes

the raven

of my moon



stretching her wings

to cry



find your peace


by ink

of the needle


tattoo ‘



in your spirit

with these wings

fly free

Diamonds are a Girls Best Friend


she grew

violets beneath her eyes

of purple prose

black and blue

recited day after day

each morning

she opened her windows

released the blackbirds

and the rains came

falling hard

each night as she closed her eyes

the blackbirds returned

she grew diamonds in her sky

the most precious was at night

stone of darkness

black diamond

she used

and cutting a hole in her heart

her toxic love escaped

releasing the chains

that held her hostage

and one morning

she picked the violets

opened her windows

released the blackbirds

and as night returned

gave back the diamond

to the darkness

and left

never to return

Another Time

how hard for you

it must have been

to take that tiny step

ants climb mountains

build castles out of

tiny grains of sand

I never asked you for this

just one tiny step

to mine

now your rabid mind

has bitten you mad

even giant steps

wont reach this time

did you really think

you were immortal

there’s is only one more step

left for you now

and that is for the making

of leaving this world behind

How I wish

you could have found that tiny tiny step

in time with mine

my mother


sparse not white 

hollow no echo 



the soundless hum of air 


with no bars

a hostage

of denial

less than 

two feet from reach

I could have been on the moon 

now many distances 

have passed between us 

and I like an ant 

and they above in a plane perhaps

look down 

and see a multitude of specks 

Im so small 

inside and out 

smaller than an ant
and time is enormous
in the abandonment
distance and time
can be as close
as you and I

The Old Man Recycled

heavy the drops


running down his face

the old man

skirts with expert pretence

around the downpour

of traffic

people reign

Holds on to his trolley

as if it was his

very own head

full of life’s spoils of fizz

in metal and glass

thrown aways


ten cents to his bank

see his gnarled hands


around his daily dig

of the cities garbage of tips

trugalug trugalug 
rattle and roll

Its raining cats and dogs

and the days near been to its end

and the old man


in printed blooms

of skirt with pleats

steel cap boots

peekaboo muscled doorknob ankles

with poppy red and purple

legs of stockinged veins

Knows he’s got to get out of the rain

His face a scar of stories

line this pickled faced

where the growth of hairs

have a mind of their own

growing like a veranda

these well sprouted brows

shelter his two dark wells of eyes

and trugalug trugalug 
rattle and roll

as the storm clouds blanket

a dark snarl of night

it is hard to see

this old man without light

for his skin and his clothes

like an extinct animal knows

how to camouflage

even in prose

but for the rain

that could wash his name on the street

He trugalug trugalugs 
and rattle and rolls

and as quick as a bug


beneath the nights rug