Poetry

eventually the ants fled but Judas came with his rifling hands

My love wakes me

It’s hard to accept that we are called to praise. What shout of joy amid such poverty?

I wanted to live my life split open, awake

Often Instagram poets want to tell the lesson in their writing rather than simply show the reader through sights, sounds, smells, touches and tastes of their lives and stories.

Their names are legion where they lay tunneled beneath our borders.