#AmericanWriters
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
She came home running back to the mothering blackness deep in the smothering blackness white tears icicle gold plains of… She came home running
The sun has come. The mist has gone. We see in the distance... our long way home. I was always yours to have.
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,
The highway is full of big cars going nowhere fast And folks is smoking anything that… Some people wrap their lies around… And you sit wondering
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…
Your hands easy weight, teasing the bees hived in my hair, your smile at th… slope of my cheek. On the occasion, you press
When you come to me, unbidden, Beckoning me To long-ago rooms, Where memories lie. Offering me, as to a child, an att…
He bad O he bad He make a honky poot. Make it honky’s blue eyes squint
Give me your hand Make room for me to lead and follow you beyond this rage of poetry.
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
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
Curtains forcing their will against the wind, children sleep, exchanging dreams with seraphim. The city
We die, Welcoming Bluebeards to our darke… Stranglers to our outstretched nec… Stranglers, who neither care nor care to know that
