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Le Nárd Andre Scovens 
I'm an outlaw - an outsider. I have no pretensions and very few inhibitions. I'm seeking a strong, mature, independent, open-minded, vibrant, deep and intelligent friend who is into getting the best out of life. Someone who will understand the life I lead. Someone I can be real with about the little funky things that go down here in this concrete jungle; someone who will be honest with me; someone who won't hold back the intimate details of their life; someone who won't be afraid or ashamed to tell me about their innermost dreams and desires.
I'm an attentive listener. My life is hard right now but it's said that listening to the joys and troubles of another helps to ease pain. So you'll find that if we vibe, the friendship, support and understanding I have to offer is genuine and strong.
I'm a freak for music. Any kind of music - Sade, Zeppelin, Radiohead, Cassandra Wilson, Coltrane, Miles Davis, Bob Marley, Wu Tang Clan, Nas, Funkadelic, Tool - rock, soul, metal, techno, hip-hop, whatever - what it's labeled is irrelevant to me. If it moves my soul I'm down with it.
I'm a writer, poet and underground journalist. I discipline my body by practicing the martial arts - mainly kickboxing. I discipline my mind by practicing Zen. I also love to read - Anne Rice, Alive Walker, Ayn Rand, Dostoyevski, Jean Toomer, Sonia Sanchez, Samuel R. Delaney - I could go on for days.
I'm interested in meeting someone who would share my world and vice versa. Nothing too heavy - I'm not into putting chains on anyone. We could be friends or whatever else we discover. I have no expectations. I'm open to experiencing what life brings. All I ask is that if you decide to write me, BE REAL. Be straight up and HONEST. You'll find that you ain't never had a friend like me.
Address: Le Nárd Andre Scovens #165908
Florida State Prison
7819 NW 228th Street
Raiford, FL 32026-1000
Birthdate: August 3/1975
Expected Date of Release: Life beating against my lips pressed to your slim brown neck -
a rhythm as old as time. Strong gnarled hands
carved its archaic tapestry out of wind, slapping dead
skins in the dust covered temples of ancient Songhay.
The same thrashing heat thumps against my lips;
the same desperate rhythm cleaves Autumn from
Summer's death, erupts into Winter's embrace,
then sings Spring's lullaby against my lips pressed to your
neck; this movement, this pounding of Life, this wax and wane -
it won't end. When my lips are gone and
the delicate map of veins in your neck has
petrified, the concerto will continue -
the earth's bright beat will have another heart
to harvest, another soul to singe, another season to slay.
candy coloured barrettes in your raven
hair, mischievious smiles intermittently bursting
across your bronze face; speaking in musical
Latin tinged phrases causing the neighborhood boys
to blush in the heat of your flash fire
Pero, it is not the little girl I want to bathe
in summer kisses. It is the woman
rushing through life like furious rain;
with eyes that are stark ebony stones set in pale
marble, lips that are slivers of sugar glazed honey dew,
skin that is a molten river of sweet brandied coffee
and love that is the whisper of a lonely girl
caught in the midst of a violent and beguiling hurricane.
frail rum brown body and snagged
in the smudges of cheap mascara on the collar
of your dime store blouse that was missing
the first four buttons. The small bones between your breasts
rose like a row of sand dunes and said more about your fall
than either the electric tic shivering alone your cheek to your
right eye or the cigarette ash stained skirt
hanging loose round your diminished hips
hips that were once round as swollen watermelons
and taut as ripe summer mangoes; hips
I'd once dreamed of crushing in my palms
while we discovered one another in bloom;
hips that had shriveled to bamboo stalks as the years
bruised both you and I
I still have the letters you wrote
me, you said. And you smiled as we mourned
our innocence on that grey street corner swamped
in sick yellow lamp light. The black night surrounded our
circle of light and I twisted the cap off my bottle of wine
to celebrate years that have marched by and by, deadening
the bright eyes of young foolish poets and prom queens
who thought they'd be immortal but discovered
dreams die quick deaths and break on stone streets.
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