A white van with the logo on the side, three orange circles stacked inside each other; the child, the mother, and the Community.
The Flame, duality of love and fire. Two poems. The first flame, poem on our lovers. The last flame, one of fire and change. Life in a dreamscape of passion.
The Hitchhiker. I see a woman standing at the crossroads of the country road, her thumb sticking out. Her hair is long and dark and straight; like mine.
Drink the Kool-Aid “They’re coming. Drink the Kool-Aid,” says dad. I refuse to put down my comic book; the crumbly broken apartment falling down around me. “Drink the Kool-Aid,” says mom. I hear the sirens headed our way. “They have no way to substantiate it was us,” I say. “Please drink the Kool-Aid,” says dad….