Words
Dirty Work
Eleanor’s childhood was still standing at the corner of Maple and Eighth. It had always been, seemed like it always would be. When she...
Postscript
Covid – year two. I no longer live within myformer parameters.Sleep comes in waves per night as does dream.
Some days the sun sings I’m...
The failure in our living
Dying where we stand,
slouched, our eyes closed,
hands covering our ears,
one could almost imagine
the world has stopped revolving,
a silent protest
against our collective indifference
of the rot...
Turnaround
One hundred and eightyDegree turnaroundMade several timesIn one lifetime—
From numbers runner and burglarBreaking into mansions of moneyed White menTo writer and Muslim messengerReaching into...
Thanksgiving
When we arrived in this unknown placewe knit together in a waythat made me want to shoutthis, this is my family.How could you know...
to william
Faulkner, you fucker you came on to me with your words and your prose and the things you could seeand i’m beholden, Man and what can i do wondering...
Recovering
Recovering Irecover likestrength sappedfrom maple treesawaiting
syruplike a broken
stirrupon a runawaysteed
its rider upsidedown
being draggedoff intoa distance
unasked forunknown
or a ghostunwilling
to admitthat deathhas brought
the end ofbreath
the sounds ofa...
Garden Graves
To my surprise,
there are still three Cardinal Climbers which have bloomed in the chill of mid-October;
their regal red trumpet petals open & held high...
An Ode to the Sounds of Blackness
When Ray Charles asked, “Come live with me and won’t you be my love?” Gladys said she’s leaving to be with him On a midnight train...
open book (start on page one, or anywhere?)
some days — if by days you mean libraries (i’m my own library) —i file myself under fiction;some days, anthologies
during regular library business hoursi read myselfas a...


















