Lying, thinking
Last night
How to find my soul a home
Where water is not thirsty
And bread loaf is not stone

Some clichty folks
don’t know the facts,
posin’ and preenin’
and puttin’ on acts,
stretchin’ their backs.

Give me your hand
Make room for me
to lead and follow
you
beyond this rage of poetry.

Soft grey ghosts crawl up my sleev
to peer into my eyes
while I within deny their threats
and answer them with lies.
Mushlike memories perform

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,

A last love,
proper in conclusion,
should snip the wings
forbidding further flight.
But I, now,

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

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

I’ve got the children to tend
The clothes to mend
The floor to mop
The food to shop
Then the chicken to fry

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