My hope scatters like sawdust

from the blade. Walk backwards,

collect every grain of sand.

This is for your soul, when the levee

finally broke. It broke out of spite for 

your flesh stopping up the fractures.

For your backbends with bricks heavy

in your chest. Your sleepy-eye...

I find myself lacking eloquent words to express my sadness at the passing of Leslie Feinberg. My copy of Stone Butch Blues, its tattered edges and worn pages. The laminate seems to be trying to separate itself from the paper cover after years traveling in my bookbag an...

I wrote this sometime around April 5th and took a few months to finish it. 

.....................................................

The sky looks like the sea,

(there is so much to remember)

the reeds glitter in the breeze,

the wind does what it will

Some people, they walk i...