Some clichty folks don’t know the facts, posin’ and preenin’ and puttin’ on acts, stretchin’ their backs.

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?

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

FOR DAVID P—B The eye follows, the land Slips upward, creases down, forms The gentle buttocks of a young Giant. In the nestle,

I’ve got the children to tend The clothes to mend The floor to mop The food to shop Then the chicken to fry

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

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…

She came home running back to the mothering blackness deep in the smothering blackness white tears icicle gold plains of… She came home running

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,

We, this people, on a small and lo… Traveling through casual space Past aloof stars, across the way o… To a destination where all signs t… It is possible and imperative that…

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

A last love, proper in conclusion, should snip the wings forbidding further flight. But I, now,