I was a kid growing
Up in fifties Brooklyn...

moments of nature
House Martins maiden voyage...

Dusk; dusted a tangerine aura
upon a hazy horizon...

I felt so excited,
about meeting her that evening...

Sitting. Waiting in a departure
area...

Fragrant scents
Leap...

I write with
wounded ink...

Our wonderful world languishes
within an open wound...

At the time
I gave no thought...

our land is poisoned
men jack up like Heroin...

the roses in your cheeks faded
changing colour...

Water..
flows, freely from mountain springs...