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When I stay up late
my thoughts move oddly like lab
mice stunted by drugs.

Hunched and hobbling I
move as if years older, a
taste of what’s to come.

Haiku, like bonsai,
needs care and pruning. A mind
unfocused kills both.

on another blog
gross comment deposited
like defecation

Now that the snow is
gone, her neglected garden
pokes up stalks of loss.

Wan, pale, red-eyed, she’s
the poster wife of Wynette’s
song, “Stand By Your Man.”

Left in Manhattan
cab. Friends’ numbers, pix of my
kids in strangers’ hands.

On a cluttered Queens
balcony he stands, watching
the complex decay.

Accomplished nothing
’til I took Motrin a whip
that tamed this tiger

J9 can’t sleep since
her mother died stays up and
writes heartache in tears.

He drank to excess
so why am I the one with
the splitting headacne?

Dreams of Oscars like
sugarplums dance in their heads.
Hollywood’s Christmas.

Bright lipstick fools them
into thinking I’m well. No
“How do you feel?”

Ibuprofen my
food. Robitussin my drink.
Illness my altar.

Snot blocked mucus jammed
sinus pressure. Every breath
a pulse of pure pain.

Dressing room mirror
replaced by funhouse looking
glass. Not me in there.

Disappointment like
a kidney punch makes it hard
to smile through the pain.

He had a dream but
his murder was our nightmare.
It’s time to wake up.

In a misguided
effort I peeled off half my
face and left the hair.

My fingers talk my
eyes listen my head makes it
up my heart hungers.

Green Cay Marina
walk. J gets stung, M watches
A Christmas Story.

Like catching snowflakes,
this melts quickly from the heat
of a stressful month.

If you had to pick,
what sense would you sacrifice?
Impossible choice.

Sometimes, the hunger
that compels you to eat a
cookie is sadness.

Soldiers wear helmets.
Women wear makeup, styled hair.
Our mode of defense.

The house of my heart
is white, clean, pure. No windows,
doors. No visitors.

Two tribes - In-laws and
Parents - force you to over-
eat, then watch TV.

“She hurt my daughter,
so I wanted to hurt her.
Can’t you understand?

Fever like a sun
burn - every surface blazing -
yet chilled to the core.

Going to New York
to be on TV. Need new
clothes. A tent would work.

Why this ache, an itch
no hand can scratch, a splinter
no tweezer can pull?

A blowtorch melting
a block of ice from within,
pain made transparent.

Heavy blanket weighs
you down, yet cocoons you. Why
bother to crawl out?

Steamroller coated
with glass shards rolls back and forth
just behind by eyes.

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© Copyright 2008 Gimble
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