Tears
The crystal rags
Viscous tatters
Of a worn-through soul
Moans

Some clichty folks
don’t know the facts,
posin’ and preenin’
and puttin’ on acts,
stretchin’ their backs.

A free bird leaps
on the back of the wind
and floats downstream
till the current ends
and dips his wing

Give me your hand
Make room for me
to lead and follow
you
beyond this rage of poetry.

He bad
O he bad
He make a honky
poot. Make it honky’s
blue eyes squint

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

Shadows on the wall
Noises down the hall
Life doesn’t frighten me at all
Bad dogs barking loud
Big ghosts in a cloud

We die,
Welcoming Bluebeards to our darke
Stranglers to our outstretched nec
Stranglers, who neither care nor
care to know that

Beloved,
In what other lives or lands
Have I known your lips
Your Hands
Your Laughter brave

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.
Does my sassiness upset you?