Monday, July 29, 2013

he touched my hand

he touched my hand
and for a cold moment
I was a woman. . .
lips trembling with awe, 
whispering lies

Thursday, July 25, 2013

two tanka

the dead 
gather white shadows 
from the past. . . 
real marionettes 
have no strings

a certain kind of Eden 
holds me thrall. . . 
your eyes
are a green twine,
the saddest rope

Wednesday, July 24, 2013


found a tongue
to haunt me. . .
sweat between the breasts
of sloe-eyed strippers

Sunday, July 21, 2013


no one believes
in their own life anymore
that's why
they're exiled from my eyes,
unable to find their own nakedness

so fearfully pale,
a lily bends to the breath
of the wind. . .
standing adrift
in the ruins of sorrow

Monday, July 15, 2013

Trayvon Martin

a grave in the sky. . . 
a black boy 
walks through a quiet 

Blog Archive