The underworld is real place where stillborn loves float in a gray river alongside memories of things that never came to be.

I almost fell for you like a youth testing his balance on the edge of the sidewalk,
Like a picture frame when an angry bass line trembles the wall.
Shame and pain broke my fall;
Maimed, lost, I crawled underneath the rock of my salvation...

A Voyeur to Nature, I Suppose

It’s a pale blue, like bleached sea water,

Tearful periwinkle.

It’s the color of dawn when indigo first gives in to red,

And that light pierces through rising mist,

From ocean making love to shore.

That’s the color I’m looking for,

The color I want my love to be


Ocean pulling in and out of shore, making love to the land.

We take in their impassioned breaths and become calm.

Our spirits rest in witness of nature's love.

Short Meditation on My Black Body - 8/29/2015

When I sit and contemplate my body, my station, my place on this earth, and I take time to feel myself here, to feel the chair push against my dignity, my shoulders defiantly rolled back, my back straight and desperate, my chest high and naïve, I appreciate how my body is—that my body is at all—, for in America to be black means that your body could be snatched off the Earth and no justice will find it.