I got a late start Loving Too much of a late start at caressing creativity          spitting gold into red pots shy dreams Lacking sex shine    almost Twinkling under dust and debris

Get Out

she thought there was nothing wrong with saying that they wanted our strength that the white brain is better on a black body ashamed of the dry fruit loops separated from the glass of milk stuck in a sunken place of denials the color of mud country roads of bidding disaster. we fall into cracks... Continue Reading →

Response to Sarah

Dear Sarah Manguso, When a writer makes money, they become commercial. To be a commercial writer is a success that drains all creativity and takes the hobby out of craft. Perhaps it is every writer’s dream to be paid for skill but at what cost. I’ve been searching for words. For years I have been... Continue Reading →


God I just want to heal wounds With language The way the preacher stretches his tongue to talk about you God I just want you to watch geese with me So that I can grow to love the Hudson the way you do I can love the way you do say the way you do... Continue Reading →

Don’t be Afraid to Read

I stand for the black poets and writers who won’t make it beyond their black identity. I stand for finding lost grandmothers. When I read Zora Neal Hurston for the first time I was filled with light. I saw the planet through old eyes. I found a black voice that made me want to claim... Continue Reading →


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