ghosts of summer

rain and rain and rain but i had
to rent a beach place on the fourth.
so if it rains and it looks like rain
the ghost of o ten may visit.

oh it already did. a point of detachment
in the old post a roni board.to be fair
to that ghost, it was a situation i hadn't done

so i wrote him indelibly in my mind. i hope
this summer's lover is better than that. in fact
he already is. he tells me i turn him on
his body has not betrayed his words. perhaps

every woman turns him on. polyamorous, she
thought. but no, he just cheated on her. with me.
the circle is complete. the gods have their  ring.
just because i didn't know doesn't mean a thing.


i'll cast no stones. not this time, i'll eat none either.
the eighteen month calendar seems it may extend itself
beyond the call. i'm rather pleased but i may be the one
says by this time. this time? as if the others were not?

but they weren't. ex one, yes. ex two no. ex three yes and  no.
ex four yes and yes and yes and no. ex five , no no and i believe no
he never was an an, so ex   not, he was a train wreck of his own making.



so i meet you when i give up. on love. on .


and i can't care as much about you because
you may even now be fucking her and i would not know
and i would not be so much surprised
as confirmed in my belief. i lief as know i am wrong.


and you say i can tell you this and it won't change
how you feel toward me and you say i can tell you
your fatal flaws and you won't kill the messenger
as long as she lets your make love to her as belief.


it wouldn' matter if i could care more would it?
the beloved doesn't have to. that's the lesson
i got when you took my love
into your ego and blessed it. selfish he say

be selfish. i had not forgotten how
i simply didn't properly learn from the start.



















*(*










the bucket list gets shorter
not because of things done
but desire's fade, undone
energy .... one
i really wanted.

 so i got  you.
it feels as real as i mean  it to
but her ghost creeps in
at the most inopportune times.
so does his. the patterns want to be.


the way you stayed and stayed
hid yourself away, no one knows you
least of all yourself. no! its not so
i know myself. i am not angry.
i am hurt. i am scared. i am sad.
i am disgusted. but i am too tired
to be angry.


tired you whisper
from your dreams.
you don't remember
 when you wake.
you are too much like me




 why do you sabotage your self?
why are you not a brilliant success
 at your chosen field? wjhy are you
 not brilliant any more my little star.



tired you weep
from the black hole
but no one hears you nothing
can escape from there. rest now.
































(*^^^^^














outside the steakhouse
rain falls as if air molecules
put on coats of water
and moved into your
neighborhood lung machine


the window shimmers with
 forty days and nights,rising
in a wet blanket, treading until
we sink, no one's bait, no one left.

do i write, really, closer to the grave?.
you write only of the dead.
 you know who
you are.


i feel cocooned, lying in your arms
folded, caped, layers of gauze between
matter and we  floating,
disembodies.

tentacles caress
  i sigh and tighten.
brought back to   flesh
again by  the why
 flabbergasted by the how.




if we could throw off these old carapaces
and live again in clones would we make the same mistakes?
i believe we answer that with history.

i'm just so tired. if i could throw it off.
now i know how you feel
 when  chemistry has its way with you
anxious and cringing little urchin.

i am an elephant with elephant hide.
i take your stance now, with more seriousness.
i want someone to feel like bill withers about me.
then i might stay.














i know i know.



























*&\\\


truth is, i loved a poet with your name,
from afar. we were close as brothers
until he realized i am a woman. i always knew
    a poet can have any occupation.
he is a poet who washes dishes and cries.








so i half loved the ideaization of your name  before we even met.
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the rain, she falls
trickles and rivulets
pull from in sympathy
there are protents here
i wish to ignore but i
am forced to deal with them.
soak the sheets. find a pad.
an umbrella, extra towels
it will be wet
the ocean wishes to be invited
to the party, sit on sonia's couch
at her beach house on the fourth
only scant day away.
the clouds threaten a brazen sky.
my eyes the color of the ocean
in deep storm decidedly un
blue. lily pads support them.

her son is an adult autistic
and is going to be there
along with her 80 year old mother
her husband died last year