Little Black Boys

I caress the battle scars of your open city, Moping faces turn concrete, People nursing little disgusts, Little sicknesses, little envies. People forcing God to bend this way, People doing yesterday things in tomorrow ways.


A Fraternity of Skeletons

There is a garden of calm skeletons, At the bottom of the Atlantic, Bleached now in seafaring serenity, A fraternity of skeletons Held down by limestone luggage, Skulls with deeper sockets, Higher cheek bones, Permanent smiles. There is a keepsake gold dagger that fell in by error, And a three-hole button that baths in rib … Continue reading A Fraternity of Skeletons