Prose & Poetry

Refaat and Ghassan, silenced, left us with only letters,  echoes of verses and stanzas and now

I arrive at the venue to dance, but I am not yet dancing. A dam, beaver-like,

I am the Bak’was, forsaken in death to the Skull Crusher. Abandoned by the clan inside

Watch me, watch me now, watch me live before I die. Watch my days, my weeks,

The stars whisper secrets in the breeze, rustling leaves in the slumbering trees. The moon has

Early one morning on the road on my way through St. Louis, Missouri. Headed to parts

Depression doesn’t sneak up like it used to when I would shuffle through the house and