country grass in my hair xii

The bridge troll leaps across silent water
Plucking his sweet fate
He used to be a man
You couldn’t understand
Because of his grotesque face
And he leads the child soldiers
Down river
All that remains
The arrows of God


Workshop Poetry

Don’t forget the market on Sunday, Don’t forget your Mama.

Dotted lights spell coffee behind my eyes, 

Blonde hair is braided, cutoff, and thrown away – Drowned in an awkward soda.

Cover your mouth. Her eyes dart around the room suspicious of you, followed by a man in yellow…

“You’re writing novels over there?”

Of course only the story of the dream in front me – Reaching for money.

Reaching for candy —

Should I stay with my Uncle? 

A man stares down into his green grocery bag,                              “Where is my money?”