#AmericanWriters
Lying, thinking Last night How to find my soul a home Where water is not thirsty And bread loaf is not stone
Curtains forcing their will against the wind, children sleep, exchanging dreams with seraphim. The city
I keep on drying again. Veins collapse, opening like the Small fists of sleeping Children. Memory of old tombs,
Shadows on the wall Noises down the hall Life doesn’t frighten me at all Bad dogs barking loud Big ghosts in a cloud
Funky blues Keen toed shoes High water pants Saddy night dance Red soda water
Tears The crystal rags Viscous tatters Of a worn-through soul Moans
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
My man is Black Golden Amber Cha… Warm mouths of Brandy Fine Cautious sunlight on a patterned r… Coughing laughter, rocked on a whi… Graceful turns on woolen stilts S…
One innocent spring your voice meant to me less than tires turning on a distant street. Your name, perhaps spoken,
A free bird leaps on the back of the wind and floats downstream till the current ends and dips his wing
When you come to me, unbidden, Beckoning me To long-ago rooms, Where memories lie. Offering me, as to a child, an att…
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…
Give me your hand Make room for me to lead and follow you beyond this rage of poetry.
She came home running back to the mothering blackness deep in the smothering blackness white tears icicle gold plains of… She came home running
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…