Oh no

Why why why

this mess

what a mess

that we never cleaned up


you’ve torn off your robe

you’ve smeared your blood

all over the world floor

called nature your own

people’s skin a tapestry

for meaning for meaning


when we ought to ask how


do we get back home?


April 28, 2017


Sitting at LACMA

We are never stuck in ourselves

my feet planted on concrete

connected to ambivalent sky

as the trees sway to the rhythm of wind

that played on my ancestors’ cheeks.


June 13, 2015