Not river, not creek - give the ditch its due, that narrow cut behind the grocery store where summer storms leave bottle caps, a shoe,

The light stays on for no one and for all; at three, the empty avenue is small. A moth keeps striking at the yellow wall

The nest remained above the porch, a gray cup hardened to the beam. Each spring, the birds crossed the threshold with mud in their beaks,

The highway ends where the blue ink breaks. A town is printed twice, then disappears. The highway ends where the blue ink breaks;

I can’t claim to know the makings of Godly hands: Perhaps they’re fibers, coarsened by fresh silk or leather, resistance to water or bloodshed.

I would have left behind sweat drops like breadcrumbs, crisscross footsteps along country trails

When my tongue was still hog-tied from Liberia’s civil war, you unknotted my colloquialism and syntax,

I dotted my i’s & crossed my t’s 2X — 3X before my naturalization

Some women remind me of cities, and like cities each has a unique character

As the keynote speaker begins talkin about a risk management framework for AI ecosystems,

Driving down Highway 1 along the California Coast Where beat poets came to commune with nature.

I bought her products called Ocean Wind, a line of all blue shower gel, shampoo and conditioner

My mistress’ eyes on black morn darker be than the sun amid versed tragedy. And beneath her eyes are deeply entrenched sad memories with tears sordidly drenched

To whom it may concern (never write who) I’m submitting the attached to apply -- Does not every word read somehow imply “Thank you for your consideration” too? --

When you told me that I was beautiful, I had no choice but to shrug those words off, tip my shoulder like I was pouring full a drink: the toast to which my faults we’d quaff.

Were I to be honest right now I’d face the desire to, my feelings, replace, At least with my words to say all is fine While my anxiety runs up a cline