My poems grip me As each new handshake Enthrall me To...
I thought I was through With naiveté. The first storm of...
Fingers I use to write Crawl over the words Your fingers...
She saw that her roots were dangling But she could not...
Things Matters of unimportance Orbit my head Change is certain I...
I was a writer And so I wrote But for myself...
Allelopathy, I discovered yesterday—is the effect one species has upon the...
She, the voluptuous one With the violin lips Satin mocha arms....
I wish you could walk right up to me and tell...