I'm Uncomfortable With The Focus On The

I Close My Eyes And Can See Men Drawing Lines In The Dust. America Pushes Through The Membrane Of Mist And Smoke, And I'm A Small Boy Again In Bogalusa.

Poets Are Seen As The Caretakers Of Language, So Working With Words No Matter What The Form Is What We Do.

I’ve Been Here Before, Dreaming Myself Backwards, Among Grappling Hooks Of Light. True To The Seasons, I’ve Lived Every Word Spoken. Did I Walk Into Someone’s Nightmare?

Tonight I Feel The Stars Are Out To Use Me For Target Practice.

I Said That Love Heals From Inside.