Her depth. My words are her rain at night. Candy sticky sweet. Sugar just to become addictive. My hands idle but my eyes never leave you. Those blue e...Read more

Life is torturing me. I am pressurizing to smile even in pain. The heart is crying from inside. Regrettably refusing to tear the eyes down.

Advice from an Owl: Keen of sound is key when perched upon a tree; ears may see what the eyes miss. Spread wings in flight to soar; know what is b...Read more

No one gives a damn about a poem until they need a poem — Omotara James. No one writes a poem because they want ...Read more

Great fortune will follow you. You will eat the heart of a horse in winter. You won’t have to pray twice. Every mountain will unclench its jaw...Read more

All night my mother speaks to me in my dream. She remembers my name. I tremble with a light that only a few fortunate people get to experienc...Read more

Briefly, briefly, Does the candle burn. But the light— O, the light!

How am I this reckless in the kitchen light eating a mango, the size of joy, so sweet I forgive the day’s dull hours and emptiness...Read more

I've thought about it, this insistent body of sound, so sharp the way its light enters the cement of the night like a nail, Here I am in a field o...Read more

If I were a leaf, O what would I do? But wouldn't that make me wish I was a tree? And if I were a tree, would I be happy, what kind of tree would I be...Read more

We used to speak in constellations, finding forever in midnight skies. Now our words fall like autumn leaves, beautiful still, but ready to die. Your...Read more

people are peppered at peaks of the hill station. what of the towns at the foot of it all? there is a chance of snowing, and chinese candles are holdi...Read more

Shine on me, silver, with your little fangs bared, Shine on me, beloved, awake as I am, In the dark, all beauty is true, and brief.

Which is to say my love is as thick as the neck on a giraffe. It is sabre toothed like a foul–mooded cat, I will eagle your name on the throat of ...Read more

I love people who smile at me. They expect me to smile– neither an affable orchid nor an ecstatic anklet, yet I smile. I wait after the congregation...Read more

[after the summer day by Mary Oliver] Who made these summer days? Who made these mangoes? Who made the bougainvilleas? Who made my Siberian cat— who ...Read more

We are truthfully, all birds. The sky lives in us.

Bring me all your dreams the dull ones, the happy ones, the wishy ones, the ones as bright as an orange. Bring me all your dreams and lay them on my...Read more

(After Mary Oliver) I worry most of the time, Will the mangoes rot? Will the marigolds wither before my twenty-first birthday? Will the Ebola virus...Read more

I wish to live as if a flower surprised by the splendor of my own blooming