Free Time


We visit this carnival bright striped stripped with neon,
Inert gasses to breathe and a feast of brothers to feed on.
For some think they can earn a place of grace with honey and gold,
Bolder still creating truth in lines measured and ribald. 
They never find out the punchline to the joke or the answer to the riddle,
And there’s a quid pro quo that’s owed in life, no matter when the shovels fill.
Caskets and urns won’t hold a single possession. 
All the words we say, stay behind – an ugly concession.
All the collections and the props nailed to walls, universal halls – 
Left behind. We take bows when finally the ending brings us all,
To tears of both laughter and outrage.
I cannot hear the touching words, your caress, feel your assuage.
We have nothing besides a shadow of a self in the darkness 
All we take from our body a soul full of energy that we once possessed.
Money becomes like gasoline to drive this human fortune, 
Then we have no excuse but to look back and distinguish fools from torture.


To explain away and fix the past,
To lie awake in fields of glass.
To cover, bandage, and cause more scars,
To fight lines in shadow boxer’s bars.
To empty our heart and cease the grief,
To ease the soul’s debt and feel relief.
In an instant at once energy transforms: too late for the bill.
Payment stays behind with wealth for what some kill.
Then lungs grasping at what you needed, not for me –
The universal dark cannot you breathe.
It’s what you gave not what was taken, 
In all the air that you’d forsaken. 
It’s all the passage of rite we take when our soul connects 
lastly free.
The universe finding all quiet now. 
Your hunger, your yearning and the
 lies and 
               the deceits 
                              Away from us fall 
Left alone.
The soul’s simplicity, honesty, in fancy.


Our light and love all created from our own good energy. 
The more positive we put into the universe in the form we’ve been loaned for a sliver of recursive, infinite,
As time, arguably the most ridiculous conceit we’ve invented to mark,
This short history and trick those foolish enough to believe they mean much of anything.
As the more we expand to touch the concurrent dimensions all happening always now and forever,
The closer I come to understanding the meaninglessness of quarreling with those dumb and deaf, 
The more certain I become at how lost deceitful lying grinds the gears to a halt.
And as then disperses into nevermore – the past present and future.
Then to see heavy black holes swallow them whole by the universe’s own disposal systems. 
Negative and ugly, dumped into eternal nothing, what we know as hell.
The positivity, the good, the light, recombinent combines again.
And again find ourselves in the spirit of pure love’s eternity.  

There’s No Tooth Fairy at 52

My chemo – probably the Xgeva – made me throw a cap off of my right canine tooth today.  My tooth, ground to a nub by my dentist in Miami 15 years ago, now sits between an incisor and the tooth that kicked all this dentistry off so many years ago. I would cover my mouth because the discoloration that no amount of bonding would cover showed through. Prior to the magnificent new smile my dentist gave my face, I lived to go to the Movies.  It was in those dark, cool cinemas, I could laugh loud and proud. And I love to laugh and to tell jokes, and to lift the corners of a friend’s sad eyes with a bad pun or off color made up limerick. Or produce eye rolls with my on the fly songs about my cat or a situation with my cancer. 

I ran my tongue over my teeth and thought from the texture that the blueberry scone had deposited a blueberry skin onto my tooth. Upstairs, I grabbed my toothbrush and put some sensitive mouth toothpaste on my brush. And looked painfully into the mirror. I am glad my husband wasn’t home because I wailed hard. NO NO NO NOT THIS TOO – FUCKING CANCER TAKES EVERYTHING EVEN MY SMILE. I cried for about an hour. Maybe I needed a good cry. There’s too much going on right now to take time to cry. I feel these days I need to get things in order at home. I don’t feel well. I know my disease is “stable” and I know I am having a really hard time getting an appointment with my oncologist and palliative oncologist, but it’s not personal.  A dentist can fix my lost cap sooner than later. I hope. Craig offered to cover it for me since I cannot even afford to eat in Northern California on my own. I can smile for the little things and cry for the big ones. 

Today he and I we were talking about being tall and how people expect tall kids to be tough. My 16 year old stepson is almost 6′ 5″ – I was 6′ at his age. People also expect you to reflect a maturity beyond your years when you’re a tall kid. Its our burden and the curse of the tall. I said I always felt like an awkward Amazon and Craig said, “you are a beautiful warrior – as the Amazonian women were. You even have your right breast smaller from a surgery like they did to shoot their archery equipment more accurately. And you’re hitting the cancer head on withtough grace like you do everything.” I beamed at him and blushed at his comment. I wished it was after the tooth loss since we had a few stupid fights after the touching comments of the morning. Maybe I need more than he can give. I’m afraid he’s feeling safety in his depression so he doesn’t have to deal with some tough things going on in his world.  It’s so aggravating to be so all alone with my cancer and pools of festering lies we uncovered recently for the personal gain of an 18 year old.

But better days come. They have to. Right? But there won’t be a tooth fairy flitting around the bedroom waiting until I fall asleep to put a crisp 5 spot under my pillow. I don’t know where the cap tooth is and I probably swallowed it anyway. I cannot handle cancer sometimes. I just wanted to at least keep a decent looking corpse for the dying young crowd to cry over, but that’s not going to be the case if this keeps up.

S’Mother’s Day

Happy Mother’s Day, mom. You’re gone from life, but never from my mind.  I do miss you and wish we’d had our time for closure, which was robbed from both of us. Yet not a day goes by that my guilty relief of having a mother with Narcissistic Personality Disorder doesn’t leave a trail of tears. I feared Mother’s Day as a child, never quite getting the right thing if I could or doing enough to satisfy her insatiable need for worship. The golden uterus – she created me and I owed her, therefore, a lifetime of debt I couldn’t pay.

Celebrating a mother’s carriage and rearing of a child seems awfully weird to me.  Born of  her choice, and hopefully for the appropriate reasons, to carry a life, nourish it emotionally and physically until it’s time for the child to sever the umbilical cord, freeing themselves of the bounds of the NPD parent. My parent decided I was mature at 14.  So mature in fact, that I could handle supporting myself for the age of 14 and for the rest of my life. Off she went with my younger brother to settle in with my future stepfather.  I became a reminder of guilt to keep as far away from family functions as possible. And it was wrong I knew, because it was a secret I couldn’t share; no one was allowed to know I was living by myself.  A few people in my family knew, I suspect, but no one wanted the added responsibilities of a teenager should my mother continue her denial.

Perhaps I’m one of the few who grew nervous and anxious as Mother’s Day approached – even as an adult it’s not a happy day for me, and it continues it’s bitterweetness as a stepmother. Few stepmothers receive cards, gifts, flowers, appreciation, or just a quick thanks. Not for any holiday or even a birthday in my home. My home where two boys spent countless hours with me, and both of whom I loved as much as any stepparent could love someone else’s child. The children I spent the last eight years with me giving of myself to no avail. But I grieve in private rationalizing that leaving a child to founder is sinful. In fact I truly believe this to my cancer-riddled bones.

Given the tug of war that I found myself dead center of, I continue to feel rope burns in my hands and more life scars for which I never asked. To relieve ones self of the lies you swallow every day along with every meal your reminded how your wonderful sacrificing mother scraped by and had trouble affording, and then she goes to get ready for a date as you scrub dishes with ultra strong childhood soap, then bathe yourself, do something wrong after she leaves and smartly wake up before she does to meet a friend and sneak a smoke on the way to school.

As you grow out of their grip and into adults you also hope to hell she changes. Sadly she never does, and like all those friends of hers you never did see again, she dies alone and confused by her own misrepresented identity.  NPD mother’s are shown to have early onset dimentia like mine did before she died of guit or Alzheimer’s or both.

Happy fucking Mother’s Day.