top of page

a hybrid cross


all that’s missing

burning crosses and sheeted horses 

on the white house garden


he’s a contagion

although, some of us 

have natural resistance to 

this virulent strain of fear and hate


born with too much melanin

as armored strength to 

swim against the currents

arms shackled behind our backs


a disharmonic symphony of souls

groaning, grinding against too close neighbors

feelings generated when in contact with another heart


the ferocious bond spans generations

making the surrounding life worth living

a sound like waves thundering

through the canopy and understory

bottom of page