The following is a bit of prose I wrote in March on an overnight bus ride from Kenya to Uganda. Sometimes it’s the means of transportation that connects, as my thoughts jumped to three years earlier, when I was on an overnight bus on the other side of the continent, Morocco and them meandered from this to…
The bald spotted hipsters of Brooklyn. The thick glassed girls wearing your grandmothers clothing they purchased for more than she spent on her entire wardrobe at the Buffalo Exchange in today’s dollars I could write you a poem on a twenty dollar bill but not take you out on the town with it. Which is…
Lettuce, Go To War Stop wilting beneath the unjust rage of the tomatoes. Don’t act like you can’t hear the murmuring of the tubers Or feel the gawking of the squash. It’s not the Onions who are crying, Lettuce. And the Carrots are laughing at you. How much longer will you let the Peppers…
Home Home is tomato sauce from mom’s pepperoni rolls that no one registers enough to tell me I’ve something on my face, stuck in my beard the smell of her baking wafts like an opiate cloud that lingers in labored expressions on the pugs who will always know their needs without the muddling of articulation…
You know how the morning after a night of unkempt raging you cradle your hangover in your hands and swear to yourself and anyone unfortunate enough to be around you that “I’m never drinking again!”? That’s how I felt in the immediacy following the publishing of both my poetry collections. After each was finally ready…
Loving The Leave I love leaving Pieces of myself Everywhere There is a man Who is completely content To play checkers Until a forgotten Fanta cap skips Over its overtaken Sprite and Coke Counterparts Becoming the only Moment worth Recounting. Later When the Diligent details Call to mind The moment One possibility In a billion…
Sandy’s Mercy The trains left us to our own devices, which sparked shortages of PBR and stress in Brooklyn bars. The storm turned a shivering shoulder to the hipster hangs (whose tenants brushed off such allegations) where poetry and paintings were being carved from afternoons of the weeklong holiday Sandy ushered in…
Today I ventured out of Brooklyn and ran to and through Manhattan. Though two days past, Hurricane Sandy can still be felt at every intersection, where darkened traffic signals yield to police officers directing the flow of cars. I’m not sure if this is because I was new to the city, or because I was…
Dear Everyone, I’m super jacked to announce to all you alls that my second book of poetry, How We Are Human, was released last week. I’m really happy with how it came together. From setbacks that included lost work from a stolen laptop this past March, to my impactful ability to procrastinate, it feels great…
