#AmericanWriters
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…
Lying, thinking Last night How to find my soul a home Where water is not thirsty And bread loaf is not stone
Curtains forcing their will against the wind, children sleep, exchanging dreams with seraphim. The city
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
A last love, proper in conclusion, should snip the wings forbidding further flight. But I, now,
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
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?
Her arms semaphore fat triangles, Pudgy hands bunched on layered hip… Where bones idle under years of fa… And lima beans. Her jowls shiver in accusation
Your skin like dawn Mine like musk One paints the beginning of a certain end. The other, the end of a
Beloved, In what other lives or lands Have I known your lips Your Hands Your Laughter brave
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,
The sun has come. The mist has gone. We see in the distance... our long way home. I was always yours to have.
I keep on drying again. Veins collapse, opening like the Small fists of sleeping Children. Memory of old tombs,
The highway is full of big cars going nowhere fast And folks is smoking anything that… Some people wrap their lies around… And you sit wondering
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,