From the Print


Les just sit togeddah, we talk story.
Bum by Aunty sing a song, but fo now goin talk story.
Bout a beudeeful girl who wen bump her hed, jus like you.

Ghetto Ritual

“For Protection” he says smearing goop across my forehead. My father is a sculptor, And I am the wax figure he created. With the help of his rough working hands, On my face, he layers-on a sheet of Vaseline. Staring…

What We Were

When the last ship vanished into the sky, afterburners flickering briefly in the dense black cloud ceiling that shrouded our world, there were fires. There were more of us then, and we poured, angry, through the streets, a human pyroclastic…