Poems

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  • Seven Minutes with Afaa Weaver and Nancy Mitchell

    Attica Were it not for his silver hair, the well-thought-out words/ “kill more of em”   the question of who made em growing deeper in a mind tethered to machinery, a mind invested in white as human, more than em could ever be.   Were it not for the heaviness of this coronavirus pandemic now, I would not write this.

  • A Gaze Hound That Hunteth by the Eye

    It's not criminal: it isn’t sodomy
  • So This is the Future & Hope

    After I found out––
  • Qinghai and Tengchong

    a prayer flag rolls around a heap of round stones
  • Snow and Minerals

    Rouge. It’s not a rose, it’s rouge.
  • Cassandra

    Some days I could go quietly into the spot where
  • Gonzalez-Torres at the Solstice and Why they Revere the Alcoholic Neighbor

    Everyone guzzled what light there was leftover,
  • Poem Beginning with a Line from Levis

    As if we’re put on the earth to forget the ending,
  • Voyager parable and Parable of the Little Ghost

    Today I am downhearted meaning sunken meaning mired
  • The Widow at Point Reyes and Broncoscopy

    She sat for an hour watching 10,000 tiny silver fish
  • Medieval Notation and Mercy

    On the first half of our hike the snow
  • The Piece

    Some years ago I painted the room gray.