#AmericanWriters
Funky blues Keen toed shoes High water pants Saddy night dance Red soda water
The night has been long, The wound has been deep, The pit has been dark, And the walls have been steep. Under a dead blue sky on a distant…
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?
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…
She came home running back to the mothering blackness deep in the smothering blackness white tears icicle gold plains of… She came home running
The sun has come. The mist has gone. We see in the distance... our long way home. I was always yours to have.
When you come to me, unbidden, Beckoning me To long-ago rooms, Where memories lie. Offering me, as to a child, an att…
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…
Tears The crystal rags Viscous tatters Of a worn-through soul Moans
Lying, thinking Last night How to find my soul a home Where water is not thirsty And bread loaf is not stone
A free bird leaps on the back of the wind and floats downstream till the current ends and dips his wing
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
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,
Beloved, In what other lives or lands Have I known your lips Your Hands Your Laughter brave
I keep on drying again. Veins collapse, opening like the Small fists of sleeping Children. Memory of old tombs,