#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
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 sun has come. The mist has gone. We see in the distance... our long way home. I was always yours to have.
FOR DAVID P—B The eye follows, the land Slips upward, creases down, forms The gentle buttocks of a young Giant. In the nestle,
She came home running back to the mothering blackness deep in the smothering blackness white tears icicle gold plains of… She came home running
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…
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
Your hands easy weight, teasing the bees hived in my hair, your smile at th… slope of my cheek. On the occasion, you press
We were entwined in red rings Of blood and loneliness before The first snows fell Before muddy rivers seeded clouds Above a virgin forest, and
Tears The crystal rags Viscous tatters Of a worn-through soul Moans
Curtains forcing their will against the wind, children sleep, exchanging dreams with seraphim. The city
I keep on dying again. Veins collapse, opening like the Small fists of sleeping Children. Memory of old tombs,
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…
Your skin like dawn Mine like musk One paints the beginning of a certain end. The other, the end of a
I keep on drying again. Veins collapse, opening like the Small fists of sleeping Children. Memory of old tombs,