
If you hear a voice within you saying, “You are not a painter,” then by all means paint, boy, and that voice will be silenced.
Poems, Prose, Photos & the Art of Being Human

NIGHT SNACK
Tonight we plucked that apricot moon and ate it, not in a gulp, but with long laps of tongues, carving of teeth, squeezing nectar against palettes till it trickled down our open throats.
Thank you to the editors Linda Watanabe McFerrin and Laurie McAndish King for first publishing this in HOT FLASHES 2.