There are some nights when sleep plays coy, aloof and disdainful. And all the wiles that I employ to win

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,

I keep on dying again. Veins collapse, opening like the Small fists of sleeping Children. Memory of old tombs,

One innocent spring your voice meant to me less than tires turning on a distant street. Your name, perhaps spoken,

My man is Black Golden Amber Cha… Warm mouths of Brandy Fine Cautious sunlight on a patterned r… Coughing laughter, rocked on a whi… Graceful turns on woolen stilts S…

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

Your smile, delicate rumor of peace. Deafening revolutions nestle in th… cleavage of your breasts

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

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

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

Curtains forcing their will against the wind, children sleep, exchanging dreams with seraphim. The city

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 free bird leaps on the back of the wind and floats downstream till the current ends and dips his wing