#AmericanWriters
She came home running back to the mothering blackness deep in the smothering blackness white tears icicle gold plains of… She came home running
Beloved, In what other lives or lands Have I known your lips Your Hands Your Laughter brave
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…
I note the obvious differences in the human family. Some of us are serious, some thrive on comedy. Some declare their lives are lived
When I was young, I used to Watch behind the curtains As men walked up and down the stre… Young men sharp as mustard. See them. Men are always
I keep on drying again. Veins collapse, opening like the Small fists of sleeping Children. Memory of old tombs,
I’ve got the children to tend The clothes to mend The floor to mop The food to shop Then the chicken to fry
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
You drink a bitter draught. I sip the tears your eyes fight to… A cup of lees, of henbane steeped… Your breast is hot, Your anger black and cold,
Your skin like dawn Mine like musk One paints the beginning of a certain end. The other, the end of a
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,
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
I keep on dying again. Veins collapse, opening like the Small fists of sleeping Children. Memory of old tombs,
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
Curtains forcing their will against the wind, children sleep, exchanging dreams with seraphim. The city