Coffee With Underhill 12 30 2016 just read one of my poems
Coffee With Underhill 12 30 2016 just read one of my poems on CLOUDSOUND , Reasons to post a photo of a dead child from Aleppo...
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Cooing the Man that is Singing
Cooing the Man that is Singing He sings like the secret of stale rags. Opens unexpected seed pods. Grows eyelids to relieve our poverty. I break the dream that drew me to his voice and leave through a window to another jail where I fast in labyrinths stripped of leaves by music, disfigured by foam. I write so as not to lick the floor. I compose homelands with oxidized tongues (landscapes with closed doors & mud ankles), islands of guitars without strings. He sings like skies feed on watches to make our days believe our right ear is a boy soaking his memory in The River of Docile Waters. He calls out my name, my silences of squeaking doors, my butterfly scars.