Mufu is the name I once went by. In a South African tribal dialect called Venda (neighbours and ancient rivals of the Zulus I've been told) mufu means corpse. I found this out after I started using that name. At the time I thought it was appropriate. While I am surely still quite dead, I no longer consider it my defining feature. I am not South African. My great grandfather was. No, he was not a Zulu or a Venda. Thought I'd clear that up. Walk on. Take the side streets.

These are the true confessions of a crap artist... sort of. My stuff is down there, for better or worse. I'm not really one for set styles or anything; I tend to let the poem find its own rhythm and hope it turns out. Sometimes it does.
Anyway, like it or hate it, please vote. Any constructive criticism would be very much appreciated, and when I get the chance, I'll return the favour.

I now consider myself a non-practicing poet, whatever that means. I mean I still write every now and then, but who cares? I still love to read, so if you have anything you'd like opinionated (it's a word, I looked it up) send me a message and I'll get back to you (usually within a week or two)
I still appreciate criticism on my own work so, having said all that, I'm still willing to learn if you're willing to teach. Oh yeah, if a poem is really good, sometimes I have trouble figuring out what to say about it. That being said, I'll still give it a shot.
Peace, Love and other assorted Delusions be with you.
Matt