#AmericanWriters
I note the obvious differences in the human family. Some of us are serious, some thrive on comedy. Some declare their lives are lived
I keep on dying again. Veins collapse, opening like the Small fists of sleeping Children. Memory of old tombs,
When I think about myself, I almost laugh myself to death, My life has been one great big jok… A dance that’s walked A song that’s spoke,
Beloved, In what other lives or lands Have I known your lips Your Hands Your Laughter brave
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
He bad O he bad He make a honky poot. Make it honky’s blue eyes squint
Curtains forcing their will against the wind, children sleep, exchanging dreams with seraphim. The city
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… Mark the mastodon. The dinosaur, who left dry tokens Of their sojourn here
Her arms semaphore fat triangles, Pudgy hands bunched on layered hip… Where bones idle under years of fa… And lima beans. Her jowls shiver in accusation
There are some nights when sleep plays coy, aloof and disdainful. And all the wiles that I employ to win
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…
Some clichty folks don’t know the facts, posin’ and preenin’ and puttin’ on acts, stretchin’ their backs.
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…
She came home running back to the mothering blackness deep in the smothering blackness white tears icicle gold plains of… She came home running