To All My Readers, you are my family

  My big window parading all my friends so close by, yet no one tattled or told me today was the day they would die.  Yesterday, the sun was a bit worn-out, and some rain cried while wetting the earth, but still, I saw the new Creeping Jenny’s annual birth.  My eyes don’t work well…

My poem haiti-the forgotten dying land now featured on edge of humanity

scant trees hold precious life in soildownpours run without mercyflushing minerals into low landscharcoal created from the sparse bushtiny fingers burn on hot boiling potof small green leaves collectedoverfished waters leave nets lying emptysilent goat bones weave like shadowsstomachs ache like a black tooth decaying blank stares of a slave child with a swollen bellychained…