What time it is
I don’t know:
I’m awake asleep
asleep awake
like a twitching laugh
at the seams of the lips,
hesitant to detonate
or defuse,
unsure which way to return –
surreal or real?
Voodoo drums shove me
into real to reveal
Christian drums shaving
heatedly into the heart
of the night…
Real shatters –
like a tablet of granite –
its chips fly like those of a detonated
And cause me to scamper for fortification
in surreal!


Please look a little deeper

Nifti's Book

Please, look a little deeper.

Listen a little longer.

Things sometimes are not what they seem.

Feel what it’s like, the pounding of her heart.

Hear what it says, the voices in his head.

Please, dig a little deeper.

Think  a little harder.

Judge a little less.

Dedicated to:
the young boys and girls I mentor.
the bullied, misunderstood, closed off.
The story of my life.

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The stones of time
speak every time
tho’ their voices ebb
as laughter and tide
bells that now chime
someday will be taken by rust
then dust:
dead shells were once
clinging barnacles.

The stones of time
sing all the time
their voices are echoed
by the whispers of palms:
we stand where once
was the seas lips
where she stooped to woo
but she’s since moved
to seek the sun.

Stones of time
in the sandpiper’s kitchen!