poetry
The Savage Harvest
Dogs know how to live and die with grace. I don't. In my hands are wet grapes fit to burst and beyond my reach...
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Certitude
Nothing is Enough
“When I have a terrible need of — shall I say the word — religion. Then I go out and paint the stars.” - Vincent Van Gogh A mystery consumes me. I pass the morning in ardent search of last night and furrow my brows as though dreams would return in the grooves of my forehead. That is not enough. Noth
Be The Change
The Gardener
We have pitched an innocent man against the thousand blades of grass. Once a week the battle is waged; each green sword glints with dew.
America on the Brink
In the Shadow of the Alhambra
I promised no more poems of that night at the Alhambra, holding hands beneath the moon Lorca once adored, for to dwell on love’s sleight of hand is to