who decides ‘or’

? how unfortunate are those

who have power over choice!

here in cells w/ stow away


there is only ‘and’

crawling into pores

forces tongues

to reform / revolt /


codeswitches stuck

on one more signal

up ahead at crossroads

needed to be crossed

to reach next

reference point.


this is both a determiner and the determined

this – the first person

– singular / collective

this – specific. definite.

of this who has control?

glory be to the world of options,

to the land of variety.



As so on a by-passed day

when the self

so willed

to find a sharp

and 90 degree meeting

and rest there

a bit

facing away

from the room

it also created

when action



(inspired by Luis Cernuda)

Because Advertising is the Only Gospel to Give Credence To

free to weigh ourselves each morning

and again at night

free to document change

allow ups to be downs

to care more for those numbers

than the alphabets

built into bookshelves

and cave walls

New Work at Queen Mob’s Teahouse

New Work is up at Queen Mob’s Teahouse


. . .

how did we grow up into this place?
what trades landed us here?

I was busy being a bookmark earlier, stuck in the middle of the story. I was a paperweight trying to keep the plot pinned down. I was not made for conversation. or I was but I lost my destiny getting here.

. . .


I couldn’t hide behind the loss of lies to feel what it felt like to walk away before falling apart

You were so crucial

We were only what was shown

* * *

He dreams                                                                                                                       She dreamt

They tried to live



what it meant

to be impartial

* * *

motivation cited itself – plagiarized its own work by deciding against rules, standards and what too soon and too late meant

* * *

It was him                                                                                                                           It was her

against them

the wind

turned to us

you misplaced you


was tossed

in         boxes

down below

with     me



Olives come in green, black and between

rice has hull removed

and sits in stomach


Beans are a plate of kidneys

in grease and garlic


Chickens walk on dark

cluck comes up

from the light.


Dinner leaves its origins

on stove

before reaching plate


Stains remain

where Clorox and Brillo



Next meal is served,

cooking tasked

to new hands

different tastes.

Lately, It’s Been Nothing New

lately, it’s been nothing new.

been hard trying

to keep this

brittle heart

from falling

too far apart for repairs


where’s freedom when it’s needed?

freedom from

a fate coming



headlines out here getting sequels worse than the original.

scripts calling

for more violence

faster on the trigger

less backstory

new victims same villains


skin is not a uniform

skin is not a weapon

skin is not a target

skin is not a threat

skin is fragile

skin is not a choice

skin is not a liability

skin is not anybody’s fault

skin is not at fault


to be fair,

everybody makes mistakes

to be honest,

why are the same folks on the same side of the errors?


it must be something to solve for

every problem

comes with an answer

once we figure out

the control

and the variables


it must be something in the water

in the stars

in the blood

beneath it

going on and on

and on

but the end has yet to arrive


someday can’t come fast enough.

but patience is gone


anger has its reasons. sadness is the logic inscribed in our genes. sorrow the logo we want changed.

no more


no more

stories questioned

in the name of anything other than justice

no more hashtag proof

that equality

has yet to exist


lately, it’s hard not to feel hunted.

lately, extinction feels like a possibility.

children first

the women

old folks too


it’s been lonely


it’s been lonely


it’s been lonely

in solidarity.

it’s been lonely

for love.


truth is . . .

that’s the joke

been heard before.

punchline’s always same as before