Sure, I would paint my skin Into a colorless color, & I would dye my hair Wear two blue contacts, & I would even Go for plastic surgery, but if I really do I assure you, I will not remove my native village Accent while speaking this foreign tongue (I began To imitate like a … Continue reading Musings over Metamorphosis
Rockpools
You are green tea and gentle hands in the morning.
My Mother Calls Me Circe: A Dream Vision
the archeologist demands a beginning ––
The Wolves and The Woodcutter
He found her in the wood, he said
On Deliverance
and then the confession.
Two Poems
Punctuating Space; and China Lake
Ayesha
Girls, girls, girls
Sandcastle Veins
foot propped on the table, I wrote
An Ode
When I say your name, people refuse
Three Poems
An Ode to Fleabag; Lungs; and Golden
