Women Are

Women are
delicate summer flowers
hacked off
by the vicious blade
of a lawn mower
screeching like
an old dog's howl
under fingernail thorn piercings
with soft skin
like velvet rainfalls
over funeral mornings
pouring down a sewage stream
of shanty town ghettos.

Women are
oyster pearls
swallowed by ignorance
and purged in personal notes,
talked like doll-faced
bedroom jerk offs
wide eyed
in wonder
with ribbons
tied at the throats
forced to sing
off key
mainstream madness.

Women are
faint rainbows
teasing folklore
gold lovers
licking dirty truck windows
on highway go-go bars,
the water mirage
on a desert surface
when you most need a drink
that fades
like sinking guilt
swallowed by
quicksand romances.