The birth of a true poet is neither an insignificant event nor an easy delivery. Complications generally begin long before the fated soul carries its dubious light into whatever womb has been kind enough to volunteer the intricate machinery of its blood and prayers and muscles for a gestation period much longer than nine months or even nine years.

Love, Mercy, and Grace, sisters all, attend your wounds of silence and hope.

The literary artist lends verbal depth to the visual. The visual artist provides visible articulation for the literary.

Beneath the armor of skin/and/bone/and/mind most of our colors are amazingly the same.

When we vote we participate in the construction of a context.

This world’s anguish is no different from the love we insist on holding back.

Before the thunderous clamor of political debate or war set loose in the world, love insisted on its promise for the possibility of human unity: between men and women, between blacks and whites, northerners and southerners, haves and have-have-nots, self and self.