faceless angel lost in leaves I go to her for health salve for pain people pass I talk to a …
Primarily These Primaries
Maybe its Maybelline maybe she’s born with it. Maybe its hubris maybe they don’t see it. Maybe its worse than …
TERSE VERSE | More Brothers in Print not In Prison, a poem by Killah Shark
Cell thinking About the blood spilled across bridges Bone marrow freedoms vote across state lines handcuffed freedom fighters standing up …
the Pheromone Room
There were many men with ponytails and Tank-tops at her funeral Some of them with Cocaine fingernails She lived in …
The Late Winter Cold
The lungs broil so I stop eating. Become less.
Every scent siphons through the filter of flow.
The body is a river upheaving itself, pulling
from its long-known bed and twisting into an
unknown course, with new lines and cracks
and valleys to learn.
