#AmericanWriters
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
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
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
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
Curtains forcing their will against the wind, children sleep, exchanging dreams with seraphim. The city
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,
Give me your hand Make room for me to lead and follow you beyond this rage of poetry.
I keep on dying again. Veins collapse, opening like the Small fists of sleeping Children. Memory of old tombs,
When you come to me, unbidden, Beckoning me To long-ago rooms, Where memories lie. Offering me, as to a child, an att…
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 free bird leaps on the back of the wind and floats downstream till the current ends and dips his wing
Your hands easy weight, teasing the bees hived in my hair, your smile at th… slope of my cheek. On the occasion, you press
Your smile, delicate rumor of peace. Deafening revolutions nestle in th… cleavage of your breasts
I keep on drying again. Veins collapse, opening like the Small fists of sleeping Children. Memory of old tombs,