…I am the kind of wanderer who stops to smell the wild flowers on the boughs and feel the moss on the bark The kind of wanderer Who dips...

…Planted in the midst of life’s lyrics and its metaphors All men at the core are poets and philosophers Alas! They delight in skimming...

(1) The insomniac night Is my part-time lover. It keeps me company, Conversing through the dark, shallow stillness. Jilted lovers of...

The healing has to come from where the hurt began. Inside. There is no other way. That which gave the pain will rub the palliative. The...

There are termites beavering in my crevices – Pains that don’t speak a language, Wrapped in white lies of laughter Pealing and peeling....

..I see a slate not very far from where I stand, A slate, wiped clean With only some blots of history dotting its borders. These...

…A river, I had reckoned, had only two ways to pass – Follow its course  and find the ocean Or dry up from its roots and be dead....

…I will remember you In the space between thoughts. That’s where the night weaves a dream That’s where the earth kisses the dawn ...

I couldn’t love you on the sly, From behind the bamboo blinds that smelled of a distant wilderness – wet, green and laved with gossamer...