I don't know if your silences are calm seas or contained storms. If your eyes hold constellations or eclipses. If you are made of mornings that repeat themselves or nights that reinvent themselves. But in this not knowing, there is poetry. Because the...

She Heats Our Hearth      We are at “Where Ya At Pizzeria” where New Orleans sophistication turns countrified. Rowena says, “Folks, I’m exhausted and need my rest. John, I have something to talk to you about. Let’s go home.”      ...

untimely division haunts my visionsecreted with pain I'm hiddenthe world doesn't touch in my kingdoma beautiful culture rich with historyis demonkind halted understanding they are lovelywe forget or don't understandthey are loyal and have valortheir image is tarnishedmarred by...