#AmericanWriters
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,
Tears The crystal rags Viscous tatters Of a worn-through soul Moans
Your smile, delicate rumor of peace. Deafening revolutions nestle in th… cleavage of your breasts
FOR DAVID P—B The eye follows, the land Slips upward, creases down, forms The gentle buttocks of a young Giant. In the nestle,
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
A last love, proper in conclusion, should snip the wings forbidding further flight. But I, now,
One innocent spring your voice meant to me less than tires turning on a distant street. Your name, perhaps spoken,
I keep on drying again. Veins collapse, opening like the Small fists of sleeping Children. Memory of old tombs,
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,
I’ve got the children to tend The clothes to mend The floor to mop The food to shop Then the chicken to fry
There is no warning rattle at the… nor heavy feet to stomp the foyer… Safe in the dark prison, I know t… light slides over the fingered work of a toothless
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,
She came home running back to the mothering blackness deep in the smothering blackness white tears icicle gold plains of… She came home running
Give me your hand Make room for me to lead and follow you beyond this rage of poetry.
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…