Cry Brother, Cry

Cry Brotha, cry Private retreat of alluvial heart. Where some turned diamonds, Some made the news, Some found some, Anger made a man of you. Butcher-knife to moods caged well for our benefit, Until the kettle whistles. Absent rhyme or reason, Your madness comes neat. Cry Brotha, cry You grab that filthy skin of yours … Continue reading Cry Brother, Cry