#AmericanWriters #CitiesAndUrbanLife #SocialCommentaries
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
Give me your hand Make room for me to lead and follow you beyond this rage of poetry.
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…
Beloved, In what other lives or lands Have I known your lips Your Hands Your Laughter brave
One innocent spring your voice meant to me less than tires turning on a distant street. Your name, perhaps spoken,
When you come to me, unbidden, Beckoning me To long-ago rooms, Where memories lie. Offering me, as to a child, an att…
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,
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,
I keep on drying again. Veins collapse, opening like the Small fists of sleeping Children. Memory of old tombs,
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?
There are some nights when sleep plays coy, aloof and disdainful. And all the wiles that I employ to win
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
Your skin like dawn Mine like musk One paints the beginning of a certain end. The other, the end of a
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