I’ve got the children to tend
The clothes to mend
The floor to mop
The food to shop
Then the chicken to fry

FOR DAVID P—B
The eye follows, the land
Slips upward, creases down, forms
The gentle buttocks of a young
Giant. In the nestle,

When I think about myself,
I almost laugh myself to death,
My life has been one great big jok
A dance that’s walked
A song that’s spoke,

A last love,
proper in conclusion,
should snip the wings
forbidding further flight.
But I, now,

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

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

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

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

She came home running
back to the mothering blackness
deep in the smothering blackness
white tears icicle gold plains of
She came home running

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