God Money

Rhetorical “I love you’s”-
batted back and forth like flies
squandered sex replaces passion
 satin bed sheets stained with lies.
Caustic conversations, peppered
black with loathings mold,
through laser whitened smiles
veneering loveless, store bought souls..
A marriage of constituents,
fed on debt devoured dreams
youthful longings long succumbed,
to god money’s siren screams…
Credit cards, and joint accounts
the bones on which they feed-
A living breathing sacrifice,
to avarice and greed…



“something inside me is energy, and it was not created, so it cannot be destroyed….” from the girls by Lori Lansens

we stood in front
of my childhood closet
fighting about
the course that i was on
she was positive i would
never make it
into the kingdom of her god
and to tell you the truth
to this day,
i am ever thankful
i will not..

“i will never die!”
i remember yelling at her,
knowing full well
that my physical body
would someday expire..
but i knew then
with the clarity
of an epiphany,
that the force
that i called “i”
would never die,
but just move on..

to date,
i have received
no further revelation.
no moments of insight,
no visions in the night..
yet, each time i recall
that single apparition
of teenage clarity,
it rings with a truth
i have never found
in any god…


you will
never know
the scent of
baby powder
transports me back
to the first moment
i held you in my arms


in an instant
i am once again
breathing in the scent
of the waxy white vernix
that protected
your fragile foetal flesh
from the waters
of my womb..

and reminded,
that you should never
have had to protect
yourself like that
from me

Posted for Chelsea Ann Owens’ Terrible Poetry Contest. This week we could the subject was open, so I found this rather absurd subject in my …why paisley?? archives and decided to go with it.


He was a mountain of a man, storming around the room, blood lust in his eyes, retaliation in his gait, “Where is it you stupid bitch- you know you stole my dope- where is it??”


“Would you stop thinking about what you are going to do to me, and start thinking about where you put it?” she could think of nothing else to say.

What if he had beat her to death before he remembered he hid it in the tissue box holder that was built into the bathroom wall?

But he hadn’t, he had found it- and she lived to steal his dope another day.

Posted for Girlie on the Edge’s Blog Six Sentence Story, prompt: Mountain.


a jealousy green as winter grass
grows succulent, lush, and full
on the long dead, barren
jagged cliffs, of my aching, envious, soul.

i watch you live, your chalice full-
as in emptiness i am bound
crackled leaf and bitter root,
the thistles with which i am crowned.

desires incandescence burns-
fever squelched, paralyzed with fear
sweet aria sung, life’s siren song
so weak, i strain-  but cannot hear.

in this theater of my own parched soul
shut out all, but temptations moan
i watch you glide among the living
while stained, i stumble on, alone…..