Poetry

Do not take a vow of silence. 
Death will find its home. 
 
The circus has taken over 
the needles.Who will stitch 
 
the wounds of earth. A man 
walks into sunset carrying 
 
a bowl of tears. The sit-in 
was going to resist a poem 
 
of life. Would you unrobe 
your identity in public one day? 
 
Always I am punctuated at night 
by a yellow moon standing 
 
in my window. A nude goddess 
is going to mourn the death of a thought.