Author of the award-winning novel Jazz Moon



Stride through the African metropolis
Teeming on the margin of America.
That sepia mayhem that sweats
To the dirge of spirituals
And struts with a horn in its heels.
Stride the toiling days and fervent nights,
Through the cacophony of
Savory tans and virile browns,
Through the majestic strivers
And the have-nots,
All dreaming amongst the asphalt
And flying on the lips of poems.

Stride. — from JAZZ MOON

Harlem, 1920s