#AmericanWriters
I keep on drying again. Veins collapse, opening like the Small fists of sleeping Children. Memory of old tombs,
I keep on dying again. Veins collapse, opening like the Small fists of sleeping Children. Memory of old tombs,
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
Your hands easy weight, teasing the bees hived in my hair, your smile at th… slope of my cheek. On the occasion, you press
I’ve got the children to tend The clothes to mend The floor to mop The food to shop Then the chicken to fry
He bad O he bad He make a honky poot. Make it honky’s blue eyes squint
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…
She came home running back to the mothering blackness deep in the smothering blackness white tears icicle gold plains of… She came home running
One innocent spring your voice meant to me less than tires turning on a distant street. Your name, perhaps spoken,
We wear the mask that grins and li… It shades our cheeks and hides our… This debt we pay to human guile With torn and bleeding hearts… We smile and mouth the myriad subt…
They went home and told their wive… that never once in all their lives… had they known a girl like me, But... They went home. They said my house was licking cle…
Funky blues Keen toed shoes High water pants Saddy night dance Red soda water
Your skin like dawn Mine like musk One paints the beginning of a certain end. The other, the end of a
Shadows on the wall Noises down the hall Life doesn’t frighten me at all Bad dogs barking loud Big ghosts in a cloud
There are some nights when sleep plays coy, aloof and disdainful. And all the wiles that I employ to win