December 2015

I am not saying “mark my words,”
as the thief says early each winter.
He leaves nothing of value. He too wants.
A brute with language, he has a fondness
for preaching. I am bathed to luster.
Memories move musically through my bones.
He sings above,...

I been ‘Candy’ since I came here young.


My born name keeps but I don’t say.


To her who my mama was I was
pure millstone, cumbrance.   Child ain’t but a towsack full of bane.


Well I lit out right quick.


Hitched, and so forth.   Legged...

What are my friends? Mouths, not eyes for
Bitterest underflesh of the farewell.
I was a man and suffered like a girl.
I spoke underneath to where the lights are

Pretty, pretty, pretty whence they came to tell
One God gets another. My friends are
Mouths...