I am alone. I stand alone. I achieved it. I am excellent.  But poets, what do you believe in? There are days when  I am not myself. When I speak terrible Czech. Mouthing,  ‘I need you’. The trajectory shifts. I find arrows in  my right hand. My sister is not here. I testify my heart…

You’re fog. You’re a psychoanalyst. You’re a cell,  a wilderness that knows to formulate the razor sharp  reckoning of night feeding, swimming in the abyss of  the lake with your tongue of grief and I look to your  future and the steps you have taken with tokenism, with  certainty. I find this stressful. I have…

We are living in a Renaissance, the African Renaissance. Attachment to the anticipation for the future arises from having high levels of a false construct that is held deeply within our core, where our personality resides, and rooted in our consciousness. Addiction arises from need, the need for freedom. The addict needs love. They get…