March 2024
Bio Note: The author of Postmarked Quarantine, I have eight books to my credit. I am a journalist, father, and the editor of 'Words Surfacing’. My works have been translated into twelve languages, published across the globe.
A Bruise No One Sees
The cat calls the name it gave me
and everybody. Says the man who dwells
in a shanty, "Dogs killed its kittens last night."
It rained near three. The puddles
are still alive with the droplets.
I turn and hit an accident prone tree,
add more water to the water.
The bruise no one sees happens and heals.
Hypnogely
The pillowcase writes elegies
to hair and sleep.
I hear your hypnogely,
wonder if you have read
my mind misread dreams,
or perchance you remember
my father's name for his baldness -
'a window for my brain'.
It feels too cold to bear any thought.
Kafka's bug crawls in Joyce's Dublin.
I hold you, or the space
where you should have been.
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