I rely on little things
to make it to the next horizon...
We will watch the
sunset in cahoots and...
No, I don't need these eyeballs
The Good Lord has given me...
the entrails of night
slithered back to their womb, so...
drafty quiet embankments
of sanctuary under the blankets...
No, I don't think,
when I write. My poem...
I'm quite afraid that I have failed
There's nothing in the drinking pail...
I almost want to cry,
in relief, in acceptance...
He doesn't hide under my bed
Nor does he hide in my closet...
Africa my home, my love of life
If I could only fly like a cloud...
Our footprints will fade
But still made an impression...
The night bathes the forest in red
And the leaves gnaw at tired old bones...