The first three notes
tell me to sing…
Category Archive: Free Form
he was a bastard
and a coward…
Why is your hand
the imprint of a griddle
on my side?…
I’m tired of fearing men,
and I want to tell the black man
I’m not crossing the street
because he’s black,
but because he’s a man…
Too much
or too little…
Time is not real
neither am I….
If you ever tell me
that you’re hurting…
thunder is an aircraft
passing overhead
behind the air conditioning…
I was the paper doll
you tore across
two imperfect halves,
jagged edge…
I practiced for seven years;
it follows me, a devoted dog
that asks me to play…
Daily Poets 