Tonight, in Oakland

I did not come here to sing a blues.

Lately, I open my mouth

& out comes marigolds, yellow plums.

I came to make the sky a garden.

Give me rain or give me honey, dear lord.

The sky has given us no water this year.

I ride my bike to a boy, when I get there

what we make will not be beautiful

or love at all, but it will be deserved.… Leer más