Category Archives: Freeverse

tonight i write

tonight i write for paper’s sake
for every pen with ink
tonight i write for you and you and you and you… and anyone that thinks

i write for every maybe
that has to be enough
i write and write and write and write
even when it’s tough

tonight i write for letter’s sake
for every story without end
tonight I write for you and you and you and you … for every loving friend

i write for every that is so
that can’t be near enough
i write and write and write and write
even though it’s tough

tonight i write for the sake of thought
for every echo of the mind
tonight i write for you and you and you and you … and every soul

i write for every never
that ever will be missed
i write and write and write and write
and leave you with a kiss.

The Day Papi left Hispaniola

In matching sun dresses
covered in big pink Bayahibe roses
they walked hand in hand.

The little girl, she said, ‘Mami,
why does the cao fly away
when I run up to kiss him?”

Her mother sighed,
“he does not understand
— he is a bird.”

The little girl nodded, “yes, Mami
but I understand.”

There were no tears,
only the flutter of black feathers
into the blue sky.

As I burn away leaving me

  the cigarette won’t smoke itself under this almost-moon
so the man in the shadows stands
there holding the orange glow of burning 
that reports the streetlight to the darkness

the smoke reaches from the cigarette
toward the nearest star – the one
the man doesn’t notice as he stands
in the shadows. If there is a question
between them, it remains unasked.

the man continues to smoke
the cigarette until it is done 
the orange glow fades
until only the stars are burning
with questions for the moon.

What I know about Morocco

I know the capital is Rabat
and somewhere there is Casablanca

Other than that, I know nothing
except that some people there speak french.

I would ask someone,
but who is there to ask?

Even if they knew, why
would they tell me anything
about Morocco?

If they did know, I’m sure
they’d wonder, “Why
does he want to know about Morocco?”

I wouldn’t answer, they wouldn’t understand.
They wouldn’t understand
how I am broken, searching

for answers, and maybe
possibly (who knows)
some of them are in Morocco.

I’m afraid they’ll know
the truth — I am lost
and if there is any hope
it’s possible it’s in Morocco

I’m afraid they’ll know
I’m lying. I’m always lying —
I know I’ll never find myself
in Morocco.

(and that’s the real tragedy)


when the minestrone was gone
and the cough was the only testimony
i – being sad
watched her leave

hungry and hurting and sick

later, when she was feeling better
i could apologize
give her hot coffee
offer a laugh

but the soup was gone
when she needed soup
and my words were gone
when she needed hope
and she was gone
when i needed to say
i’m sorry