A poem about the soul’s power. — At first, it seemed the fire only burned for itself the wax dripped to the table and formed little ponds on which the shadows of that flame would dance the singular spark of something inexplicable not important really but for the singular reason that it couldn’t find another use for…

A poem in your footsteps — your mother found me pacing endlessly on an empty stretch of beach the rising tide turned the sand to mercury well, not scientifically anyway, I waited for her for you soaked to the bone in my bathing suit freezing and sad before she arrived I was just one of the manifold…

Pandemonium poem “I was birthed restless and elsewhere” — Patricia Smith, “Katrina.” They swept us away, those wakeless waves our bones caverned, bodies brittle, curved stiff where did we start when the storm began? ‘cause yeah, we existed before he merged us into his vortex, his entropy, his ultimate truth …

Coming to life she awakens, finally, on a Monday the 1 train illuminated with life morning used to be toss & turn no light, her spirit always phantoms through the dark tired fog over the ever-waking city of dreams for now, she is carefree, sprite with wild wings, her body ignited with a wink indestructible life-of-the-1, on her way to who knows where right…

the quivering moment of knowledge you, here, in the mirror that shakes under the heat-pressure of an open, wide flame The simple condensation on a hot glass on a fired-up kiln on a shower door that reflects back at you a naked breast No face for what this is and…

The secrets we carry Domestic life was never trivial, actually There were open windows, with drawn Blinds, closed doors with glue traps In the corners of bedrooms, there were Catastrophic conversations, endless Wombs giving birth endlessly, were Lies and secrets, pastures and cells My life a maze through a house of webs Was also your life, actually it…

the purpose and driving force of my art — My name is Rajzel — I am a poet my mother is a poet, my grandmothers poets, my father a poet, my grandfathers poets. my great grandmothers were poets, my great grandfathers, all of them, poets How were they poets? They did not write poems. Because my name is Rajzel — they were, in essence…

Book promotion minus the artifice — I’ve been working on marketing my book without social media. Here’s why. I was getting obsessed almost to the point of no return. Facebook was a vortex, Instagram a black hole, and TikTok a freaking tornado hell-bent on the destruction of my self-esteem. I was at the point that my screen time was up 50% from PBE (Pre Book Era). My obsession…

A poem about longing for loving-kindness — Love waits for us in the dark cries out for the pleasures of kindness the heart languishes for togetherness in the midst of violence we are separate, longing to subsume one another I consume love like bread and butter Juliet died in her true love’s absence not knowing that he…