#AmericanWriters
I keep on dying again. Veins collapse, opening like the Small fists of sleeping Children. Memory of old tombs,
Funky blues Keen toed shoes High water pants Saddy night dance Red soda water
Your hands easy weight, teasing the bees hived in my hair, your smile at th… slope of my cheek. On the occasion, you press
The night has been long, The wound has been deep, The pit has been dark, And the walls have been steep. Under a dead blue sky on a distant…
When love is a shimmering curtain Before a door of chance That leads to a world in question Wherein the macabrous dance Of bones that rattle in silence
She came home running back to the mothering blackness deep in the smothering blackness white tears icicle gold plains of… She came home running
When you come to me, unbidden, Beckoning me To long-ago rooms, Where memories lie. Offering me, as to a child, an att…
We were entwined in red rings Of blood and loneliness before The first snows fell Before muddy rivers seeded clouds Above a virgin forest, and
They went home and told their wive… that never once in all their lives… had they known a girl like me, But... They went home. They said my house was licking cle…
We, this people, on a small and lo… Traveling through casual space Past aloof stars, across the way o… To a destination where all signs t… It is possible and imperative that…
A last love, proper in conclusion, should snip the wings forbidding further flight. But I, now,
A Rock, A River, A Tree Hosts to species long since depart… Marked the mastodon, The dinosaur, who left dried token… Of their sojourn here
Some clichty folks don’t know the facts, posin’ and preenin’ and puttin’ on acts, stretchin’ their backs.
I’ve got the children to tend The clothes to mend The floor to mop The food to shop Then the chicken to fry
Your smile, delicate rumor of peace. Deafening revolutions nestle in th… cleavage of your breasts