In April I become as soft as rain
trusting the distance in landing
if every day was Sunday then I’d
paint the sky with the poets
awaken, Amiri Baraka, and give us your chisel edge stroke “Who blew up America”
awake, Gil Scott Heron, sideleaf brush as common folk “Living in the Bottle”
awaken, Phillis Wheatley, a fine stroke of transparency
“remember christan, Negroes Black as Cain
May be refin’d and join th’angelic train”
awake, awake, get up Mary Oliver “tell me what it is,
you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”
oh I could go on & live in sky-meetings as words themselves,
where the dead poets paint my world brand
spanking
new
my sky would run -red with love
as love is..
Krissy Mosley Ministries 
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