True Imposter

She sings the Church songs on Sunday
and tries to emulate the feeling the singer had
In its absence, she taps those soon-to-be
manicured nails on the table
and taps those eight years old Shirleys
that even God would question on the floor
She bows her head and damn near speaks
in tongues that even the tongue can’t decipher
She taps the mind to make it believe, like she does, that She is doing all the right things to make it into Heaven’s God’s grace
She can’t wait ’til Church is over
So She can resume how others see her
All along, She was planning her day

Man’s Own Box

Appearances are everything

Along with that

despite one’s name

shaven better than beard

endowed rather than not

Cold is like hot-headed

Shy is worthless

while quiet means nothing

to live without doing

Who wants that recipe?

Mankind wears a button

of those they know and love

and hate

Still, they are in the know



Lest one tries to produce

Failure is a label

worn after grief

Alas, appearances are everything

when we remind ourselves

that we are so worthy

La Femme Accident

Cold girl

Shivers in fur

Calculating her move

with the sure powerful

Only she knows

the renewal date of her

Tramp-stamped passport

Trading secrets too tender for legal

Though always legal to make one tender

Like a chameleon she pretends

Able to turn on love gestures

at the drop of sodium pentothal effects

Included in one’s IV line

Even a Green-Colonel wearing a beret

cowards to her talents

Yet she is able to get invited to dinner

and wash her laundry below the family room

Passion for her

does have an expiration date

And the gauge she professes

leave no powered residue

The young and impressionable can see

her true essence

Well, out of the mouths of babes

She is vilified

But she will never see herself in them

The many faces of wickedness

could succumb to joy

Though emotion is a sign of weakness

until a drink is ordered and left unattended

Let her pretend to pretend to not care

of their demise

About two steps behind her

before she changes her fur



Setting Up House


Are the 24 hours of daylight

of which all hope

can be soon found

never again treated

like a doorbuster prize


      the only fanciness

stares back in the shiny

wrapping it possesses

Encompassed hands

never do move

As if frozen

Yet all else is carefree

Even Santa doth winks

at full-fed twinks

And drinks are spilled

as portals are then filled

Within the merriment of glee

Peace be with thee

To get closer

does He then see

the poser can no longer be

Still rules

broken by fools

wade childishly in pools

that laugh and smile

with all invitations on file

No expiration date

And Return to Sender as Fate

No Postage Required

Just your Will desired

Meeting the stamp of approval

Like a squirrel

earns points for accrual


are days that always last

everywhere and

out there

to share

strutting confidently

and oblivious to the past