#AmericanWriters
A last love, proper in conclusion, should snip the wings forbidding further flight. But I, now,
I keep on dying again. Veins collapse, opening like the Small fists of sleeping Children. Memory of old tombs,
Shadows on the wall Noises down the hall Life doesn’t frighten me at all Bad dogs barking loud Big ghosts in a cloud
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?
Beloveds, now we know that we know… Without notice, our dear love can… In the instant that Michael is go… Though we are many, each of us is… Only when we confess our confusion…
I keep on drying again. Veins collapse, opening like the Small fists of sleeping Children. Memory of old tombs,
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…
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
I note the obvious differences in the human family. Some of us are serious, some thrive on comedy. Some declare their lives are lived
FOR DAVID P—B The eye follows, the land Slips upward, creases down, forms The gentle buttocks of a young Giant. In the nestle,
Pretty women wonder where my secre… I’m not cute or built to suit a fa… But when I start to tell them, They think I’m telling lies. I say,
I’ve got the children to tend The clothes to mend The floor to mop The food to shop Then the chicken to fry
Some clichty folks don’t know the facts, posin’ and preenin’ and puttin’ on acts, stretchin’ their backs.
Your smile, delicate rumor of peace. Deafening revolutions nestle in th… cleavage of your breasts
She came home running back to the mothering blackness deep in the smothering blackness white tears icicle gold plains of… She came home running