acid rain through clay

our men are never finished

our women only begin

our sunset women, our

people of the dusk

our sadder but wiser women

and all folk who yearn to die

who yearn to bleed,

their spirits

like acid rain

through clay

spreading poison

til it sprouts


everything holds a

drop of poison

everything holds

the end

Recent Posts

See All


I haven’t asked him for his number because now I am known, now the I-I-I am afraid, now I am up there on the raggedy cross with Christ: no longer unimaginable (so a little breathless), no number, no d

a better question

In the end, I suppose the better question is: how does the ocean feel about us?


I emerged from my door and carried into my present moment the quivering skeleton of a whom this poem is for, a what is trying to be accomplished. We are the escape artists. We point the way out. We pa

+1 (202) 384-5561

  • Visit my Facebook page!
  • Visit my Instagram

©2017 by The Kilele Project. Proudly created with