#AmericanWriters
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,
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…
Your smile, delicate rumor of peace. Deafening revolutions nestle in th… cleavage of your breasts
Lying, thinking Last night How to find my soul a home Where water is not thirsty And bread loaf is not stone
I’ve got the children to tend The clothes to mend The floor to mop The food to shop Then the chicken to fry
Some clichty folks don’t know the facts, posin’ and preenin’ and puttin’ on acts, stretchin’ their backs.
I note the obvious differences in the human family. Some of us are serious, some thrive on comedy. Some declare their lives are lived
I keep on dying again. Veins collapse, opening like the Small fists of sleeping Children. Memory of old tombs,
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
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…
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 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
Your skin like dawn Mine like musk One paints the beginning of a certain end. The other, the end of a
FOR DAVID P—B The eye follows, the land Slips upward, creases down, forms The gentle buttocks of a young Giant. In the nestle,
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…