Red-Eye
The plane makes its fluid, plummeting turn, and my window fills with land
Poetry
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Waves
That night the wind remade itself
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Animal Is My Inner Animal
Look past the wild red hair, gripped sticks, and teeth gnashing; past the twin shows of chasing skirts and anger
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Theses on the Hydrology of Sweet Tea
I pray only to wordplay. Am I wrong to fetishize fluidity? Strength?
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Hair is Choking the Drain
My friend in Africa has a cleaning lady. They are both Black. He tidies up a little before she arrives
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