Is what loss upon loss upon loss does to the human mind, body, and soul.

There are so many grieving people out there who need love or, at a minimum, a kind word.

Be nice to someone today.

Urge Surfing

Urges are where I write my poems.
Once the Urge is conceived and birthed verbally,
The wave of Distress passes and I’m free again.
Poetry is my favorite form of Urge Surfing.
So I like to make my art at The Edge.

Then again, I’m a bit of an adrenaline junkie!
Call me out of practice at having fun!



It’s not for the faint of heart,
So before you even begin to
start the post,
pre-advise you QUIT while still time;
That’s the most
WARNING I’ll provide.

I mean: I know it’s a Sunday,
But this Public Service Announcement
Comes at a high cost to ME,
So if you can’t withhold YOUR judgment
Or your morals to make the space
SO I can release the
Advice alien-ating out of
Please keep your eyes on
Yours and Yours.

Not that any of respectful YOU
Has EVER even tried,
But in 2022,
Virtual and Reality are mixed,
And I’ve got a
Religious Persecution Complex
After a lifetime of abuse.

It all boils down to facts
As simple as this and that
I need be LISTENED TO!! So
“Grow up, You Old Idiot!
You’re as apparently as old as me,
So why can’t you see
That my telling YOU
Is an effort to relieve ME!?
I know ALL these pleas fall on deaf ears”
Pleads ‘Feels-Too-Muted’ Me.

Social Media; Being Simultaneously “Confusing” and “Therapeutic”

For the record, I didn’t even know there
COULD be more than two viewers
To a “Private Story!”
Maybe in your fantastical stories,
Laden with Rote Artificiality,
But not in mine, and at least for now,
NEVER in me!



She’s just being Fire.
She makes a fiery dance through everyday items.
It’s her need to fully course through
To ash, especially to ash.

Thinking herself Fire,
Even if it’s futile, she needs to burn herself out.



Since You were the only intended audience for my poems,
I guess that means You were My Muse.
The thought disturbs me.
Because, without a Muse,
How does one Make Music?
I couldn’t stand the quiet of
Loneliness any longer,
So I had to learn to Make Music without you.
In the process, I’ve learned to A-Muse myself.
I’m even making better music these days, oddly enough,
Enhanced after blowing through a Muse, and
Exchanging Muses.



To be with you,
I have to be alone.
If I need a hug when “I’m with you,”
Or I need any other physical touch,
I have to touch myself.
Eating a meal out “with you” is a
Meal eaten Out BUT alone.
Films we watch “together,”
I watch by myself.
And since no one knows about you, me,
Or the fractional entity of “us,”
I only communicate with you WHEN ALONE,
Videotaping one-sided conversations,
And posting the clips so
YOU can watch when YOUR Time Permits,
Which is never “Now” but always “Later.”

And you may indeed be insane,
But I’m certainly insaner!
If I want any answers from you,
I have to ask binary questions:
Yes or no? This or that? Pass or Fail? Like or Hate?
All so you won’t have to lift more than one finger
While I’m secretly crossing mine you’ll answer.
If I’m sad when I’m “with you,
I cry alone, tears saturating my entire home.
And should I find myself in a pesky way which requires comfort,
I must first learn how, then comfort myself.
With you, if I desperately need an evening of distraction,
I have to distract myself and,
At the end of the day,
It’s an evening alone at home, everyway.

Being with you” means I spend more time imagining than I do fondly enjoying or remembering
Our (unshared) past,
Our (nonexistent) future plans,
Our (zero) current concerns, and
Our present (absence of) victories.
Worse, since none of these life-shaping things or events take place or ever occurred in Reality,
I constantly question Reality,
To the extent “Home Alone with You
Is virtually indistinguishable from
Home Alone with Me.”
I’d actually yell at you to
“Leave Me The Hell Alone!”
If I hadn’t been Alone all along.

What a lonely song!
What a lonely dance!
I long to listen to music,
But I now make it for myself;
I wrote it by and for myself
In my signature style of Alone.
I’ve found I prefer its sound and tone
To the tune of “Being With You.
It’s less confusing, and I’ve become Even MORE amusing to Myself!

Where, how, in what color, and with whom?
That would be “Alone” on all counts,
And I’m the Only One who counts,
So by all accounts,
I’m better off Alone.



Some people structure and order their lives to such a degree,
should you meet someone you want to “get to know,”

You feel like you’re “trespassing against” their lives to do so.

Who in their right mind is going to do that for long? I’ve only ever done it when my screws needed a good tightening.

Because feeling like a Trespasser is a terrible way to feel;
It ultimately leeches you of your motivation to care in the first place.

It ALWAYS takes too long, but the simple fact is:

When it ends (because how can you welcome trespassers while admonishing them to Keep Out!?),

Your feelings for “Special Person You Hoped To Know Better” WILL die.

But this particular moment in time, when you cross the line into “Not Caring Anymore,” isn’t for the faint of heart:

It might NEVER cease being a Mixed Blessing.

Then who’s The Trespasser?

A MULTI-HUED FOOL, Retooled & Re-pared (down a little)

None of it matters,
None of it happened,
No one was hurt, and
No one ever has been,
Except, apparently
THIS “has-been,”
Who isn’t now, nor will ever be,
Cut out for long-term memories.

No matter how you slice it,
In this minor situation,
I was major-stupid,
And a clueless fool was I
100% of the time.
I’d even hazard-to-say
I played The Fool in every game.
Yahtzee, Poker, and Parchisi?
Being foolish was so easy!

Under cover of darkness,
And everywhere under the sun;
From before its rise,
Through it’s eye-squinting setting,
My foolishness became record-setting,
Hoisting and foisting foolish me

High Upon and into a Dunce’s Corner,
So I could “get myself in order,”
Growing This Fool into
An Anti-Hero or Villain,
Not the Ingenue I’d assumed
You’d stuff into
During Your Bedtime Story.

But since you never told it,
I slept and dreamt
I was a Drooling Idiot,
Waking to find
I didn’t pretend it.

I’ll say it again:
Your character isn’t convincing.
Not that you TRIED to convince me;
It’s why I did all the gift-giving, up-lifting,
And emotional heavy-hitting.
Now I’m ashes-sifting.

As for any fireworks shared,
They’ve grown so cold,
The only stars Memory serves
Were laid and laced into Constellations
I couldn’t find again;
Couldn’t find to BEGIN.

I was also an Artistic Fool,
Swayed by the poetic words
Colorfully shaded by Me,
But Foolishly written for You.
I know in my bones YOUR favorite hue,
When NOT painting me from Memory,
Is “foolish” (if not garish & ghoulish).

I also know IF you had a favorite shade of Degrade
For the egg upon MY face,
It’s Arrow-Marked by a Neon-Dart,
Buzzing, blinking, and endlessly repeating

The situation is dire
And the hour is dour;
It’s time to do ‘Everything Required’
To dislodge the extra Stupid I’ve acquired.
I’ve become foolishly situated,
And my mind forcibly evacuated
In order to grant YOU Your Time & Space,
Since somewhere between
Alone and Beside Another
Is your favorite Time-Hiding Place.

This Foolishness I’ve found myself in?
It’s past-time for it to end.
So, I’ll simply sum it up:
I stooped too low,
I got too thin,
I cut too close,
And I let Stupid in.
But you can solace in my promise
It won’t happen again.



None of it matters,
None of it happened,
No one was hurt.
None of it did and none of it has;
The only “has” in this situation is “has-BEEN,”
Never was, isn’t now, and won’t be
Cut out for long-term memory.

No matter how you slice it,
In this minor situation,
I was major-league stupid;
I was a clueless fool,
And a clueless fool was I,
Practically all the time,
But at a minimum, start-to-end.

In Fact, I’d hazard-to-write-say
I played the fool in every game;
Whether Yahtzee, Poker, or Parchisi,
Over the last year or so,
Being foolish has never been so easy!

Under cloak and cover of darkness,
And everywhere under the sun;
From before soon-to-rise
Until setting and squinty-eyed,
Once stars are night-hoisted
Then I, too, can be foisted

Into a dark dunce’s corner,
To “get myself in order.”
I simply grew from an obscure fool
Into a legendary Fool,
The Unflattering Primary Figure
I stupidly assumed
You’d squeeze and stuff into
Your (quite frankly) boring story,
Which, since you never bothered to share it,
Frankly ever-quite bores me.

Once again and
I’ll say it again:
Your character simply isn’t convincing;
Not that you’ve TRIED to convince me,
Either simply or complexly.
It’s why I did all the time-gifting, me-giving, up-lifting, and emotional heavy-hitting.
Now I’m merely ashes-sifting.

But in order to buy it,
You’ll be forced to sell it
To increasingly-fragile
And decreasingly-agile
Mentally-Foolish states of mind
(How do I know?
It’s the same state as mine).

As for any fireworks shared,
They’ve grown so old and cold,
The only stars Memory barely serves
Were laid and laced into a Constellation I couldn’t find
Again or couldn’t find to begin.

I was also the sloppy-stupid subject
Painted as both Fool and Major Fool,
In multi-colored shades and hues of Fool,
ALL chosen by YOU.
I happen to know YOUR favorite hue
When painting me from Memory
Is “ghoulishly and foolishly,”

I also know your favorite shade of Degrade
For the egg on MY FACE
Is Neon-Marked by a Neon-Sign
Incessantly Blinking,
Endlessly repeating

To win, show, or place
For the races which I never run,
Can’t ace, but show up for all the same (ok, not always).

Regardless, the situation is dire
And the hour is dour;
It’s time to do ‘Everything Required’
To free me from the extra Stupid I’ve acquired.

I’ve allowed myself to be foolishly situated,
And my mind forcibly evacuated
In order to grant to YOU
The Requisite Time & Space,
Since Somewhere between
Alone and Beside Someone Else
Is your all-time favorite
Hiding Place.

It’s the same stupid scenario
Every foolish place I go,
So I remain at home,
Retaining my shape
And staying the same:
Old Clueless, Fruitless, Useless, and
Foolishly Stupid

This Foolishness I’ve found myself in?
I think it’s time for it to finally end
So, as such,
I’ll sum it up:
I stooped too low,
I got too thin,
This happens when
I cut too close;
I always end up letting Stupid in.

Cauldron Concoctions: Bewitched


Call off the hounds!
Call off the murder weapons!
Call of the cadaver dogs!
Call off the ghosts and ghouls!
Call off the spell-casters!
Call off the werewolves and vampires!
Call off the Conspiracies!
Call off the Theories!
Call off the Mind Control!
Call off the Astral Projection!
Call off the Ritual Sacrifices!
Call of the Evil Practices!
Call off the Illuminati!
Call off the demons!
Call off Lucifer Himself, Lucifer!
Call off this vexing and perplexing hexing!
Can’t you see I’m crying
Uncle! Tío! !Dios Mío!
You’re “Achtung,” Baby,
And I’m a Running Scared Lady.
So, ‘Please’ and “I must insist”
That you desist, so we can
Call off The Whole Thing!
And write it off at My Expense.

An Intimate Confession about the Modern State of Intimacy 🌶 🌶


I need to be addressed by my name,
Cry on a shoulder about my day,
Be undressed in a close personal way,
Seduced while holding hands,
Locking lips, and touching tongues,
Into a charming but disarming
Sapiosexual maze.

This combination rouses me
To a heightened state of “Stimulate,”
Where I can then be Emotionally caressed,
Set apart from scripted bots
And the rest of all The Rest,
The Only One, the “Always One” and The “Now-Forever One,”
Until I’m so high I crescendo
Into “What Satisfies Me Best.”

I need it all, I must confess,
Before jumping immediately
At the First Blush of the First Try
On the very first night,
To surprisingly-skillfully-virtually
Relieve and Drowse my “partner”
Into a solid, heavy sleep,
Assisting HIM achieve
A Most Basic Human Need,
While ignoring MINE and ME.

This constant raising and dashing of Longing
Is what ended the prolonging
Of the delusion of “You & Me,”
For we were NEVER a “We.”

Instead, this is the end
Of a confusing and illusory,
Antiseptic absence of
Sweat, friction, and dirty sheets,
Sullied by the delicious treats
Of a freshly-released
Gorgeously fluidic, blatantly Unhermetic mess of
Intertwined and inner-aligned Two-ness.

I DID promise I’d confess,
So here’s the skinny scoop
I’ll share with you:
What I find I miss the most
Of my endless list of MOSTS
Is the silly, post, inter, and coarse
Pillow talk and pillow squawk
Which reeks of actual tenderness.

These are the almost-unbearably sexy parts
I’m not too alone to forget
About passion previously shared
With past husbands, lovers, and
Prior significant (and not-so-significant) others.

So I’m well-aware
And I well-know
The number of my company
Will always and constantly change,
But my basic need for Skintimacy
Will always stay the same.

PS. Please forgive me,
I don’t know why
I’m having such
A difficult time
Processing my Parting
With the “I must have imagined it all”
Phantasm who stole almost ALL
As well as Piece of Mind.

Just a Stupid Girl


I’m just a stupid girl,
Naive, clueless and lost,
Old and covered in frost.
One minute I was in my own whirl,
The next I bled into your world.
I don’t know how and I don’t know why: I only know YOUR world’s not MINE.

Your insistence on random rules
Marked me as an indelible fool.
I bent the shape of my mind to trust
What You Said at the time.
Stupid me is Stupid blind;
For some stupid reason,
I can’t hear your stupid lies!
I know I’m a big fat dunce,
But would you please, just this once,
Find IT in YOU to explain to ME
WHAT defines “TRUE”?
At least to YOU?

The Truth would be the perfect key
To un-puzzle and set me free,
But I don’t think you’d waste a
Single Key on a secret door like Me.

I’ve looked, high, low, and all around
There, but the clear sound of truth is
NOWHERE to be found There.
Maybe you think I don’t deserve it,
That I haven’t earned it?

I wish I’d never over-indulged
Nor over-divulged.

It’s true I played the Biggest Fool,
But at least I still Recognize Truth!
You withhold and guard,
Won’t Others-relieve with
What You won’t release.
It’s not a “strenuous try,” so I opine
About the reasons behind
Your refusal to clarify
The cognitive dissonance
Which boggles my mind and
Equates to Zero Sense.
You may have abilities to
Compartmentalize fragilities,
But I don’t and can’t,
So I won’t, and I shan’t.

It’s all moot, I’ve already died;
I’m only speaking shite when I mime:
Go On and Good-Bye”, and
How I wish You hadn’t lied!
For it requires a bigger fool than I
To delude, feign, and deny
That I’M the One YOU’VE deceived
And YOU’RE the One I trust-believed!

I realize “WE” and “IT” were
Micro-short and Dirty-quick,
But it still makes me queasy-sick
And gut-punches me to think
YOU bought ME so tacky-cheap,
Ignoring my pleas and ignoring Me
Into Withering, Weeping, Willowy Heaps.

So if At The End or All Along,
To think for ME, YOU never longed,
Nor ever longed to sit beside
Slays me, strays me, and betrays me,
Not to mention excruciates me,
The Very Most of all.



You burned me with Hot.
I returned you with Soft;
Yet you torched me down
To ash the ground.
You crushed me there,
Scared me there, but
Never bothered to call me by name
Or stare into my eyes,
Which Cried and Died Me there.
Why? Because you accosted me there
And DEARLY costed me there.

Next, you buried me there,
Which was NO surprise
Since Stupid “I”
FINALLY clued to realize
That Stupid YOU never cared.
You Left me there, and
Forever Hid me there,
So if ANYONE ever loved me HERE,
They’d NEVER find me THERE.

You scooped me and consumed me,
Took my fumes but then refused
My Most-Inner Precious.
Damn! You were so reckless
With my very human’s heart.
It terrifies me to ponder
If you planned it All from the start.

You turned my insides out, and
Like a louse and a lout,
You debased me and
Tried to erase me.
You must have thought me
The most foolish of clowns
To take my full-to-busting
Unrequited-but-trusting self
And cooly shoot Me down
To live in Oblivion,
With all the Other Idiots.

I hope you’re Lost,
Thrown, Turned, Tossed,
Never Touched and Never Held.
It’s MY turn to spitely spurn,
So let ME be The First
To welcome YOU to the
Cold and Callous Illusional Palace
Known as Hell which YOU
So sacrificially and altruistically
Designed and condemned ME to!

It so much more than Disappoints;
It shreds my “Kind And Caring,”
And stamps me “Not Worth
Procuring, Insuring or Sparing.”

In short and with spite,
You diluted my price,
Neglecting and Rejecting
Me as common and cheap.
You confused me, used me,
And if that wasn’t enough,
You left me shattered,
Torn, shorn, and tattered
In an Indifferent and invisibly
Bloody, neglected heap.

So don’t YOU DARE find
YOU mind it’s finally MY time
To judge and send YOU
To your OWN hell;
I hope it whisks you down below
In a fancy stretch limo;
But if not, I wont sweat
Because at least I’M nice enough
To drive you there Myself!



I don’t want to be guilty of damning you with at least the FAINTEST and most subjectively TAINTED gifts of praise, so here go my efforts to Rabble-Raise:

Thank you so much for diverting my attention to the point of distraction and detraction over the last quasi-year (that’s how long and not strong it was, or so I hear).

At first, You were reasonable and appeared feasible…at least in MY dreams, or so it seemed.

Regarding said dreams, dreams said in bed:

Do you share them, scare them, and if so, are they too scary HERE them to THERE them?

Hello, I Am HERE, and it’s clear I’m simply ME, Free, and by My Own side, shored up by my Bones Inside,

Externally-outwardly extrapolating my inner-microcity and inner-velocity.

It hurts, curts and causes squirms, twisting me out of joint and groping at my corroded copper coins bearing no worth, forcing me to be adroit and on point.

Folded blind, I cross ropes strung so very tight, who hang so very high, I feel as if I’ll die.

I’m not coordinated, so this ungracious, seemingly heart-unspacious act is mutilated and ill-fated,

Reducing me down to the ground into a Consterned Frown to reject the fact I’M the one who always has to be direct!

But what the hell? I’ll deliver the news in your favorite Smell, cloaked in the preferred perfume YOU choose and demand WE use.

Here’s the “frightful, spiteful” message I know you think you presaged (but you didn’t, you idiot, never guessing at my emotional range or age):

My thanks for your passive, toothless followship.
No thanks for No companionship.
Worst of all?
Your Zero Patronage Colds and Comforts like (and for) an Ice Age.
But thank you VERY least of VERY all for your Unfaithful, Unsameful Cybership.

With No Love Lost and No Affection,

[Not a Mothership] But at least the Mother of THIS Ship,
#metwo, and
[I hope you can see that #methree #ME-rely reluctantly agreed].

STRANGER DANGER: Rusty but Still Sharp


So I’m finally getting to use some of my inherent acerbity for the first time in my life! Like EVER!!

Lifetime asshole number 414 texts me in the wee hours Wednesday morning (4 months after NO WORD) with this:

“Hi Stranger. Thought I’d drop by and say hi. Hope you’re well.”

At 5:28 in the morning! What motive does ANYONE have at 5:28 in the morning if they’re not on their way to an airport?

So I replied with:

“We’ll, hello Stranger. Too bad I don’t talk to strangers, but I’m glad to hear you haven’t expired” (or some-such crap at the end; the main point was front-loaded)!

I’m a bit rusty, but I’m GLAD and RELIEVED to discover The Bitch is Back!!

I was SO worried I was getting too soft!

It Blogs The Mind: How to Take Shelter During A Downpour

I mean it! Her-iccanes need company.

I am an Appreciator to my Core.
It’s why I make so many useless blog entries, ALL day long:
I’m simply sharing my APPRECIATION for THOUGHTS I consider too delightful and APPRECIATE TOO MUCH to hoard for myself.
And I currently have No One to whom I can turn to casually state them.
So here they go.
Thank you.
Have I thanked you folks recently? Because I couldn’t have weathered this latest storm without you!
You’re a giant, sheltering umbrella, and just one “read receipt” is all I need to feel return-appreciated♥️
You keep me dry when I’m sopping wet.



It certainly wasn’t love.
It wasn’t even friendship.
I don’t know WHAT it was… perhaps some of the younger ladies could help me understand?
I think it was a giant bunch of nothing, and I have no idea why, but I allowed this giant bunch of nothing to distract me for an inordinate period of time.
However much time it was, you can rest assured the interval was inordinate!
Because he wasn’t even worthy of distraction, so clearly I must’ve been in love with myself the entire time?
In this pseudo-ship of a pseudo-shit that I just survived?
The only residual problem might be…

I think I made a TOTAL ass of myself over this Big Lug of Nothing.
As in: got the emotionally embarrassing equivalent of “sloppy wet drunk,”
highly-hormonal, possibly puberty-level of embarrassment,
Only compounded by the significance I placed on something of such Apparently-Obvious Insignificance which wasn’t Significantly Obvious to ME!

So, I don’t know, Girls and Boys:
What DO you call “IT” when you act like a Mindless, Stupid Twit over a Useless Heap of Shit these days?



I couldn’t wait for you to leave so I could douche.
That’s how disgusting you made me feel





It took me too long to get rid of you in the First Place,
So don’t you dare get any stupid ideas!
I wouldn’t hesitate to Stand My Ground and call you a Trespasser, because you ARE and you DID and I HATE YOU for treating me like a Whore (no disrespect to professional sex workers, thank God for each and every one of you, and I mean it❣️),
But Common and Easy and Cheap.
You weren’t even the slightest bit grateful!
Why do you think Anyone would sleep with you in the first place if not for the Easy Comfort Package One would assume you come with?
Because I thought Free Pillow Talk For Hours was a GIVEN, GIVEN your Unfortunate Appearance and Manners.
How it must suck being so ugly inside!!



I’ll give you my benefit instead of my doubt nine times out of 10.
But IF I doubt you or ONCE I doubt you, there’s NO coming back; you’re thoroughly irredeemable and possess no virtue.
At least to Me,
And I’m writing about ME!

So you’re USELESS, CLUELESS, and I’m RUEFUL and TRUTHFUL when I say I REGRET you, even mentally WISH DEAD you.
But you’re the DEBTOR, the Ultimate REGRETTER in the End,
Or so I portend;
It’s my Choice how I CHOOSE to USE my Own Voice, and I INTEND TO,
Mean-Until-THE-END YOU.

*(yes, I’m screaming)