#AmericanWriters
Beloved, In what other lives or lands Have I known your lips Your Hands Your Laughter brave
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…
Soft grey ghosts crawl up my sleev… to peer into my eyes while I within deny their threats and answer them with lies. Mushlike memories perform
The sun has come. The mist has gone. We see in the distance... our long way home. I was always yours to have.
A last love, proper in conclusion, should snip the wings forbidding further flight. But I, now,
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…
Lying, thinking Last night How to find my soul a home Where water is not thirsty And bread loaf is not stone
I note the obvious differences in the human family. Some of us are serious, some thrive on comedy. Some declare their lives are lived
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
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
He bad O he bad He make a honky poot. Make it honky’s blue eyes squint
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,
Your skin like dawn Mine like musk One paints the beginning of a certain end. The other, the end of a
We die, Welcoming Bluebeards to our darke… Stranglers to our outstretched nec… Stranglers, who neither care nor care to know that
Give me your hand Make room for me to lead and follow you beyond this rage of poetry.