#AmericanWriters
I keep on drying again. Veins collapse, opening like the Small fists of sleeping Children. Memory of old tombs,
We die, Welcoming Bluebeards to our darke… Stranglers to our outstretched nec… Stranglers, who neither care nor care to know that
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
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
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…
Your smile, delicate rumor of peace. Deafening revolutions nestle in th… cleavage of your breasts
I note the obvious differences in the human family. Some of us are serious, some thrive on comedy. Some declare their lives are lived
There are some nights when sleep plays coy, aloof and disdainful. And all the wiles that I employ to win
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…
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
I’ve got the children to tend The clothes to mend The floor to mop The food to shop Then the chicken to fry
One innocent spring your voice meant to me less than tires turning on a distant street. Your name, perhaps spoken,
She came home running back to the mothering blackness deep in the smothering blackness white tears icicle gold plains of… She came home running
Your skin like dawn Mine like musk One paints the beginning of a certain end. The other, the end of a