My Poetry

Matter.

HOW DO YOU MATTER? to a country that sees your skin as a weapon. your sibling. your father. your mother. your close friend. slain.   it’s a wound you carry like bites on your ankle. covered with socks and silence and neglect.   how many souls have they misdiagnosed? misunderstood? punished?   they know. but… Continue reading Matter.

My Poetry

One in the Morning (A Ghazal)

One in the Morning.   One hundred dollars to be loved for one hour by a woman named Beloved.   The volume on the rental car radio is turned all the way down to one as you   and her wrinkle the leather in the backseat with your naked, dry flesh. One   time when… Continue reading One in the Morning (A Ghazal)