Poetry is dead and God is alive.
I heard these words and began to cry.
Without poetry what would become of me,
Drowning in a sea of Christianity?
...
To find a spiritual center
by listening within
by shutting out external sensation
by discontinuing the
...
she lays on the bed
with a young man she shares
night gowns with
...
nights like tonight
with the fires of the infinite
...
I woke in the morning to the raucous “caw-cawing” of a crow.
He was perched on the electric wires above my sidewalk bed, swaying back and forth in the breeze to keep his balance as he cried.
...
of the meaning of love
thought streams trail loosely
shrill cat screams cut across midnight alley
car horns arabesque in the moonlight
...
many days have come and gone
and still i linger here
climactic times have been and passed
and still my mind’s not clear
...
When Billie Holiday died
(for all our sins)
all she had was $500
taped to the inside of her thigh
...