#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,
Beloved, In what other lives or lands Have I known your lips Your Hands Your Laughter brave
Give me your hand Make room for me to lead and follow you beyond this rage of poetry.
One innocent spring your voice meant to me less than tires turning on a distant street. Your name, perhaps spoken,
Tears The crystal rags Viscous tatters Of a worn-through soul Moans
Lying, thinking Last night How to find my soul a home Where water is not thirsty And bread loaf is not stone
He bad O he bad He make a honky poot. Make it honky’s blue eyes squint
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
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,
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…
Beloveds, now we know that we know… Without notice, our dear love can… In the instant that Michael is go… Though we are many, each of us is… Only when we confess our confusion…
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…
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
Your hands easy weight, teasing the bees hived in my hair, your smile at th… slope of my cheek. On the occasion, you press