Shades of Raw

you have glimpsed

soul bruises

deepest indigo

tightly tied

under bustier

saucy in scarlet

pressed them

tenderly insistent

against contusions

greening purple

of your own

you have ridden

harrowed heaving

aquamarine ochred


pummeling frenzied

under garters’ restraint

plunged intrepid

infusing whirlpool depths

with cobalt-cerise

chaos from your core

you have tasted

tangy cerulean brine


from my bared soul

alighting symphonic crescendo

upon your parched lips

stripping aside pretense


your throbbing need


Words that Hurted

when monsters rage

through dreams perverted

violence urged

from impotent stage

roles reversed

compassion subverted

ravening stooges tower

beyond mortal cage

thugs terrorize

bigotry reverted

re-write rules of power

omnipotence asserted

war of hate wages

decency deserted

by narcissist avower

proclaiming, defaming

kindness downtrodden

values diverted

wounded souls evil labeled

dictators’ worth inflated

his campaign of destruction

circus crowd cheering

my mistake a life sentence

of rejection and jeering

hope from veins spurted

as abomination enrages

with exertion concerted

collective engages

animus is inverted

spewn blood-inked

scrawled in marginal pages

love ever trumps hate

implosion averted











Plush Shaped Demons

my demons have no horns

pierce me not

with blazing orbs of fury

they poke and prod me

with solemn countenances

ringlet-framed cherubic

as they whisper


of your needs

most urgent

these imps are cloaked not

in capes of flaming scarlet

trimmed in darkest

black of heart

they are draped

in robes of softest plush

comfort wrapped

to your touch

infinitely reversible

in an endless palette

of all your favorite colors

the succubi

ensconced on my shoulders

bombard me not

with shrieking

shrill and blaring

my ears split not

they whisper


sweet nothings

hymns of virtuous self-sacrifice

in service

to your eternal happiness


beyond the horizon

these djinn

who visit night and day

lead me not to temptation

greed, lust or gluttony

they set fire to my soul

smoldering with your pain

I immerse myself

in waters deep


drowning myself

as I swim miles

against the undertow

to rescue you



Summer Psalm

cool-limned breezes


with fleeting shadows

twirl the skirts

of midday heat

lifting drape of limb-cling


in sidelong whiffs

between beating beams


feathered tendrils

tickling denuded skin

river-chilled puffs


stem to stern

lazy grazing

kissing promises

of sweet relief


Size Does Matter

a man of true stature

does not stoop

as blustering blowhard

self-gratifying his member –

ship among apocryphal elite

Führer with bullying fervor

palpates pulpous pride


his distended pulpit


Lilliputian cognizance

accessory- coordinated

with Napoleonic appendages

Warrior Women Anthem

Collaboration with my amazingly fierce Warrior Sister Kindra M. Austin


Yes, I know my place—

And it’s not in the shadows of darkened corners,

Slumped over and bleeding, weeping.

It’s not in the kitchen, barefoot and pregnant or otherwise.

It’s not in the hospital having bones reset, or split lips stitched.

Yes, I know my place—

Push me down, drag me out,

And I will get up on my two feet

Because my place is to stand among my Warrior Sisters


I have been out of place

cowering, confused by calamities

conforming, if only for moments

to lessened expectations

I have been out of place

biting my lip

silencing caustic retorts

eviscerating commentary

on the lot I was caste

I have been out of place

head shamefully bowed

hiding my brilliant plumage

muffling scintillating wit

lest I overstep, overshadow

narrowly defined confines


Shed used skin—toss it away

And open eyes, newborn light.

Hold on heart, the time is now—

Cast aside those ropes,

Take up your banner.

Riot for your life.


it has been said

I am out of line

dare I speak too loudly

of my truths

my place is colored riotous rainbows

outside your compliant lines

it has been said

I am out of line

dare I dance with abandon

in the face of obsolescence

my place is scented midnight jasmine

in the garden where my good

overgrows obsequious evils








your thumb on my hipbone

gentle yet substantial


sinks arches of us

into the sultry fabric

of the July night

lazy circling caresses

heated friction

loop fractals of demurement

humming unmurmured

through cricketing air

fingertipped claiming

sizzles on contact

neurons whorl and swirl

sensory surround sound

imprints sensual tattoo

where your skin touches mine