“Just do it”, holds no worth, unless You’re crazy enough, to let self-belief, Turn the corner, into concrete deed. How like in New York, When you turn 90 degrees, it can be Wall Street, Or perhaps Broadway. How you need not...Read More
The green patina of copper oxides, The jade colored statue of the maiden of liberty, That reminds every man, woman and child, That over here, the grass is greener. How Every minute rushes past faster than A subway train, and the...Read More
This place is made of all sorts of people. The mad, the bad, the fad, the glad, And every Hindi movie is a reminder Of how to bridge the gini coefficient, With a Bollywoodian love story. Aishwarya Rai still looks a million,...Read More
How fire has a way of going viral, Faster than a post of a modern-day Lady Godiva On Facebook, and still, there are No miracle cures for the wild things. Prometheus didn’t bring Fire to this world, for mankind To set her...Read More
The Men in the Crummy probably wouldn’t have agreed with Noam Chomsky, though for reasons Noam might have trouble appreciating. I think about them whenever I read one of Noam’s essays about mankind destroying the planet, how...Read More
Walking from front door I go out to visit The maple touch her braille skin comb her abundant foliage expecting my reach and her roots with their clenched knuckles and the soft grass like a slippery carpet and the breezeless...Read More
I pause beside ancient oak stump the one that bids me contemplate life but my puppy wags, seeking my eyes wonders why we have stopped Inside a moment of stillness I query if a part of me way down in my roots is really untethered...Read More
He was young once— brown eyed, dewy cheeks Now aged, he sits at my table sometimes sunshine knells through window other days, rain stings against glass. I am repulsed by thorny complaints gruff laugh, swollen bitterness I do not...Read More
An old, straight-backed man, chest holding tight as armor since Korea, looks at me, a woman walking alone in the wide open park designed by Olmstead according to Wilson’s biophilia so I can see predators yet never be far from a...Read More
I. Whiteness is marked, too The colorful one-dollar-a-day expat enclaves, their string hammocks and thinning longhairs, their bare-foot cantinas and surf-soundtracked all-night cheap-dope conversations no longer appeal: I’m an...Read More
Yes, mechanisms are at work, yet life is something more: how we have to surrender to birthing, to tripping. At times, to thought, to being. Yes, survival works because it works; yet don’t tell me the otter plays to distract...Read More
It was an August sunset when I saw you last — the lazy breeze was thick with autumnal promises that hung in the air like warm cinnamon. You were waiting for me at the end of the pebble path you had lined with California Poppy...Read More
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