Poets Are Seen As The Caretakers Of

Blue Is The Insides Of Something Mysterious And Lonely. I'd Look At Fish And Birds, Thinking The Sky And Water Colored Them. The First Abyss Is Blue. An Artist Must Go Beyond The Mercy Of Satin Or Water-from A Gutty Hue To That Which Is Close To Royal Purple. All Seasons And Blossoms Inbetween. Lavender. Theatrical And Outrageous Electric. Almost Gray. True And False Blue. Water And Oil. The Gas Jet Breathing In Oblivion. The Unstruck Match. The Blue Of Absence. The Blue Of Deep Presence. The Insides Of Something Perfect.

I Think Of My Poems As Personal And Public At The Same Time. You Could Say They Serve As Psychological Overlays. One Fits On Top Of The Other, And Hopefully There's An Ongoing Evolution Of Clarity.

I Think Of Language As Our First Music.

I See Many Black Males Grasping For Some Thread Of Hope. There Are So Many Destructive Practices, Glimpses Into A Psychic Abyss. That Must Be Very Frightening.

We Have To Embrace The Good Over The Bad. That Has To Be One's Personal Project.