Just came across this. It was written in the mid-80s.

Adult langauge ahead. My apologies in advance to any offended readers; I couldn’t revise it and still express the rage this poem contained. It is not about a woman.




She can hear

the rain sing

to the Sun Kings.

She can see

the Silence

through the haze.

She can dance

in Darkness

throwing shadows,

and reach within you,

touch your blood –

tiny dancing dizzy flood.


She is bouncing in your scream.

She leaves you lost

within a dream.

She takes your eyes,

leaves you blind.

And then your heart.

And then your mind.

Stumble, nodding rhythm.

Exploding time.

Is she so fucking fine?

(Is she so fine?)



Something to say…

Well, I wasn’t sure I had anything to say (other than POSSIBLY as fiction), then last month, my friend Tracy was struggling with evil in the world (and yes, with actual evil).  I wrote something to her that I have learned from the weather here in Colorado, and she sent my own words back to me:

As for the rest, how pale would the world be with no shadow?  When it never rains, the trees die, then catch fire.” 

Maybe I have something to say after all….