#AmericanWriters
There are some nights when sleep plays coy, aloof and disdainful. And all the wiles that I employ to win
I’ve got the children to tend The clothes to mend The floor to mop The food to shop Then the chicken to fry
You may write me down in history With your bitter, twisted lies, You may trod me in the very dirt But still, like dust, I’ll rise. Does my sassiness upset you?
Tears The crystal rags Viscous tatters Of a worn-through soul Moans
I note the obvious differences in the human family. Some of us are serious, some thrive on comedy. Some declare their lives are lived
Shadows on the wall Noises down the hall Life doesn’t frighten me at all Bad dogs barking loud Big ghosts in a cloud
FOR DAVID P—B The eye follows, the land Slips upward, creases down, forms The gentle buttocks of a young Giant. In the nestle,
A free bird leaps on the back of the wind and floats downstream till the current ends and dips his wing
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…
Your smile, delicate rumor of peace. Deafening revolutions nestle in th… cleavage of your breasts
One innocent spring your voice meant to me less than tires turning on a distant street. Your name, perhaps spoken,
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
We wear the mask that grins and li… It shades our cheeks and hides our… This debt we pay to human guile With torn and bleeding hearts… We smile and mouth the myriad subt…
The highway is full of big cars going nowhere fast And folks is smoking anything that… Some people wrap their lies around… And you sit wondering
Lying, thinking Last night How to find my soul a home Where water is not thirsty And bread loaf is not stone