Donna Dallas


Drug-girl rolls past 

in the wheel chair 

pushed endlessly 

down bland white corridors 

she longs to drool 

half smiles at the other patients 

droops her mouth down 

in a saddened  

feel-sorry-for-me way 

to think she could have slid a few pills in 

her hidey hole 

and now this…. 

Mother and father wait 

obsequie statues 

outside the MRI chamber 

free from any potential radio active 

waves that could harm them 

demand to know what’s wrong with 

drug-girl’s brain 

outraged that it has come to this 

drug-girl waits 

stares at the medical supply cabinet 

grey-white faux wood 

some kind of recycled board 

shipped from a third world country name of which 

she could never pronounce 

to end up 


put together so half-assed, the bottom piece already coming detached 

cheap-ass shit 


perfectly still 

when asked if she’s ready 


with dead eyes 

what kind of music does she want to listen to 


dumb MRI bitches 

don’t know music 

don’t know drug-girls struggles 

in the morning 

when she’s sitting on the bowl 

leveraging her fate with 

whatever is left in 

the bag 

her goodie bag 

not so good when empty… 

Or drug-girls anger with that hideous supply closet 

the hospital cheaped out on 

Mom and Dad blame the millennial gen 

the deteriorating school system 

they blame each other’s negligent malaise 

over the years 

their distraction away from drug-girl with 



glittery fundraisers 

silicon boobs 

Drug-girl is completely content 

with how it all turned out 

agitated that parents try to 

reflect and 

project the 

would haves – could haves 

she wants a burger she says 

saltie and ketchupy 

like when she was a child 

MRI bitch eyes her 


David Yurman bracelet that she slides off 

and places into 

Gucci knapsack 

drug-girl throws the 

‘I’ll knife you’ 


They gingerly 

wheel her 

to recently 

renovated room 1011 

with cushiony walls 

drug-girl coils 

around herself 

stares at 


thinks of  



she didn’t get to 


Today’s a good day for death 

she said this so matter of fact  

as the sun blazed through her flaxen hair 

onto pasty 

sallow skin 

I wasn’t in love with her  

yet I love her still 

the rifts were hard to live with 

bouts of anger  

she hated everyone – including the UPS guy  

for delivering boxes a few feet too far  

from our front door 

I remember those straight-jacket days  

at Creedmor 

her blank stares 

then the death talk started – but that was awhile back 

things had quieted 

A memory drifted in here and there 

never quite got the story 

about her step-dad 

and his brother 

in the trailer 

while her mom drifted in and out of 

realness on a lounge chair 

sipped orange soda and gin 

just under the long rear window 

Maybe she heard everything 

or nothing at all penetrated 

her dream boat high 

but my blonde beauty 

could not get past the trauma 

They say such events can be re-triggered 


perhaps the glint of the moon  

through the space 

in the blinds 

reminded her of the 

too quiet nights 

when menace crept 

into places not meant 

The sadness that swam in those baby blues 

eyelashes so long…..what a waste  

sadness is a death in itself 

not enough to kill 

but cloak 


Hugs & Kisses from the Tide Motor Inn 

I watch my lover walk to the bathroom 

take a piss 

light a cig 

he won’t look  

for a job 


he said he would yesterday 

and the day before 


he’s got the itch 

I accept this 

and lay in bed 

all day 



in this small motel 

off the side of the bay 

the wondrous bay 


paddle boaters 


come in droves 

pink flamingo floats 

rafts with a cup holder 

for booze 

I see them 

from the window 

what a view 

when the sun 


blotches of orange  

and cotton candy pink 

spray the bay 

like a nebula 

much more 


when I am high 

with my lover 

nestled in this 


with all we need 

go out for 

cigs and food 

when necessary 

watch the seagulls 

dip and glide 

over and over 

listen to the lull 

of the light waves 


Hugs & Kisses from the Tide Motor Inn 

off the beach 

gracefully accept 

his cross 

that I’ve taken on 

such a martyr 

living without a word 

of complaint 

without ever walking 

over to the sand 

to feel it 

under my feet 

naturally soften 

my calluses 

and hardened corns 

sit on the one torn chair 

on this tiny balcony 


for my lover 

to wake 

try again today 

to kick it 

Page Break 


this blazing Jesus 

cures my terrors 

thaws a frozen heart 

to slush 

I wield power in my thumb 

can de-skank myself 

at any given moment 

pillars of smoke billow 

through slick catacombs 

I travel through 

they are treacherous  

be warned 

find I have twisted myself 

into a knotted 

stiffened bow  

to be unraveled at a later date 

careful boys 

there’s a climb building in these 



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