I never considered myself to be good with words, untill I stopped conforming to ordinary ways of writing. In the beautiful space that the poetic mind gives, my words blossom at the end of the branches of their deeper meaning.
My poetry seldom stands alone. It is rooted to performances, images and rituals. Here I present some of these verbal flowers. They are like the flowers we take from nature; beautiful as decoration, but dead without proper nourishment. Please water these flowers with your melting heart.