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Poetry
Poetry
She Said, Can’t We Just Be Friends?
After a week of sleeplessness / he dozed off at last / in the hammock and was / awakened by the sound of dead leaves / dancing.
September 1992Poetry
Blood At Solstice
A little death or at least no possibility / of birth, it gives up on you the way / your mother did.
September 1992Poetry
My Savior Jesus
Not Jesus on the cross / but Jesus the boy / by himself, shivering, gazing into the water, / his hand cupping his scrotum, / the puzzling extra organ / attached outside his body. / I could believe in this Jesus.
September 1992Poetry
Hard Bargain
Two head masks from West Africa, / helmets of rough wood, / hang on my study wall.
September 1992
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