where the writers are
Twenty-First Volume (after Amiri Baraka)

Lately,
I've tried to become
That which I can't fathom.
And I repeatedly fail to achieve
What I already am, and always was...

Things have come to that.

So now, each time I take a chance, I fail.
So each fall gets softer and more tolerable.
So when I step away from home,
My crying tree welcomes me.

Nobody dances anymore.

And then my
Father slipped into my room I heard him
Whimpering to himself, and when I opened
My eyes, there was no one there
Apparently, he couldn't hear my prayers...
Or even see God peeking into

My old, clasped hands.