Outside my window   A clothes line on which I’ve hung hurriedly my towel and my t-shirt— wrinkled   A few flower pots with seasonal flowers— all colours   A white wall with fine cracks— revealing its grey body

Black velvet on your ivory skin   Hair pinned bare neck   A sideway glance from you, Senorita, lights my sullen room

Life— a small book a never ending prose an exaggerated art form

A flower pot resides next to my work station   Sometimes a flower blooms with a red glistening texture its subtle fragrance all over   Sometimes a thorn pricks my conscience its consequence all over   The crimson pot— my muse stays forever.

Space   I’ve always been scared of the space I’ve seen myself lost in its eternity   It was the thing you wanted from me Blank and austere.   I was unable to survive in the cold purlieus of your space   On the ebb…

How to make chai (tea)?   Take a pot fill it with water   half full show your optimism   Put the pot on the stove on the medium flame of agony   Add tea leaves— all black equal to the number of lovers Charlie has…

Shall I mourn the loss of time? It took away all my dimes.   Shall I mourn the loss of time? It made me prime.     (Couplets)

  This basement window Allows a glint of light Through its high narrow strip of muddied glass. It’s well before dawn now I can smell a skunk sauntering past the yard Which is why my hound has been, well Hounding while I wrote all night…

I look out and see the possibilities of my life.  A vast terrain that I’ve yet to explore.  It is growing and beautiful, ripe to be tilled.  There overhead flies an eagle showing me the heights that I can reach.  I hear the song. I…

  Better to start with what I Haven’t missed. I haven’t missed the meals I skipped When the choice was art or Bread I haven’t missed money Unless I was broke and begging But I’d miss any page gone from these shelves I haven’t missed…