They say music, as a malady, is incurable. I wonder if you ever watch yourself, seeing the moment happen as boom goes the drum, clack clack goes the hat, the bass comes in between. I wonder if you dream. Of penniless thoughts that have wandered the streets for so long that they have peaked interest. I wonder if you see…
Category: Letters
To the wandering artist
How many paths did you have to cross before you finally sat down to take a breath? Do you remember all your journeys? Or is that why you stay connected, putting everything around you into your poems, hoping to not leave a trace of anything behind? I must admit, when I wrote the first of these letters I always thought…
Behind the Man with the Butternut Squash head
Is it true that when you found your father they sat back and watched, waiting to hear what words would first make their way out of your vault? Tales only find their way across the world when they are true(or at least, part truth), is what I’d like to believe. That somehow truth catches itself on the wings of a…
To the Jagged Edged Woman
To the person who arrives with the sun in her eyes that we are the universe is no surprise. There is loneliness in eloquence. But even that over simplifies the things that they have kept lost inside the vortex between here and the edge of last night’s liquor. You know this don’t you? Someone told you about this on a…
For the madman at Kilifi
And when they ask you why you sit in the middle of all the madness bleeding into your laptop you will smile. You will smile that smile that echoes histories of lost poets, searching for answers in questions that have been asked since the beginning. Many words, but not something that they know will happen, the apparent becomes a pattern…