Hearing Dr. King’s hope for a justice bent world, I believe and pray to believe, beleaguered by police at barricades, chanting. Connor Orrico is a
RUMINATION Long, long enough have I endured the throes And torments of the lust that courses through me Whene’er I think on her – Victor,
Wedding The space between Us smells of lavender spice and Pots of shrimp paste Gaily tied round its rim with Lilac ribbon Attracting beetles
Confession And once I was a millionaire of river bank and darkened air. At age of eight I’d contemplate— not contemplate, but radiate
A SONNET FOR ONE NO LONGER HERE I am so very tired of grim tombstones, Meaningless names and dates, flowers as dead As the ones
Another Goodbye Look: my windblown self, laid open, or, another insolent word like the wing of that crested bird rephrased and tossed aside, broken.