#AmericanWriters
Beloved, In what other lives or lands Have I known your lips Your Hands Your Laughter brave
I keep on drying again. Veins collapse, opening like the Small fists of sleeping Children. Memory of old tombs,
Your skin like dawn Mine like musk One paints the beginning of a certain end. The other, the end of a
Some clichty folks don’t know the facts, posin’ and preenin’ and puttin’ on acts, stretchin’ their backs.
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
We, unaccustomed to courage exiles from delight live coiled in shells of lonelines… until love leaves its high holy te… and comes into our sight
Lying, thinking Last night How to find my soul a home Where water is not thirsty And bread loaf is not stone
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 hands easy weight, teasing the bees hived in my hair, your smile at th… slope of my cheek. On the occasion, you press
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
I note the obvious differences in the human family. Some of us are serious, some thrive on comedy. Some declare their lives are lived
One innocent spring your voice meant to me less than tires turning on a distant street. Your name, perhaps spoken,
She came home running back to the mothering blackness deep in the smothering blackness white tears icicle gold plains of… She came home running
I’ve got the children to tend The clothes to mend The floor to mop The food to shop Then the chicken to fry
A Rock, A River, A Tree Hosts to species long since depart… Marked the mastodon, The dinosaur, who left dried token… Of their sojourn here