Category: Poetry

You, with teeth and white boredom,tangled in my sheets, your fingers stuffed inside, as though you think I might enjoy it.  I pretend to be a hollowed-out tree, bear-furred around the wound, yourprofile reminding me of old grievancesrattling around my head like loose teeth.  I hate the coldness of your lips on myindifferent skin.  My body sinks back in … Continue reading White Boredom

I wish I could begin a painting of her. I grabbed a paint brush. Too bad, I'm just a poet with clumsy hands.  I figured out her paradox, The girl who can suffuse La Dolce Vita, Bringing colors and sweet scents to a nondescript workplace,  also has the blatant appeal of a Chiaroscuro art composition.  Here I am, sitting on the … Continue reading Ayesha (2)

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

You are green tea and gentle hands in the morning.

the archeologist demands a beginning ––

He found her in the wood, he said

and then the confession.

Punctuating Space; and China Lake