i guess that's the way life is when you've got quotas to fill.

i guess that's the way life is when you've got quotas to fill.

machine works
stretching each and every ounce of what you've got left.
say hello in smacks.
don't try to please your man he says
with whispers and with winks.

underneath the window sill
a dying plant
(perhaps a rose too long planted in a vase)
cries to you--
it cries to its mother--
for all the tears of blood you've spilled.
a dagger in the heart is but a gear in the machine
and with each twist you turn
a little slower.

rainbow of pain

rainbow of pain

the light from the window
makes shadows on the wall.

plato's dead shadow puppets
mirroring the unseen world

of ink left thick and black
in splotches upon the page.

grandma's crystal chandelier left
rainbows of pain bright like a laser

in my eyes
too weary to see the sun.