#AmericanWriters
I keep on dying again. Veins collapse, opening like the Small fists of sleeping Children. Memory of old tombs,
Funky blues Keen toed shoes High water pants Saddy night dance Red soda water
The highway is full of big cars going nowhere fast And folks is smoking anything that… Some people wrap their lies around… And you sit wondering
Tears The crystal rags Viscous tatters Of a worn-through soul Moans
Your smile, delicate rumor of peace. Deafening revolutions nestle in th… cleavage of your breasts
When you come to me, unbidden, Beckoning me To long-ago rooms, Where memories lie. Offering me, as to a child, an att…
Some clichty folks don’t know the facts, posin’ and preenin’ and puttin’ on acts, stretchin’ their backs.
I’ve got the children to tend The clothes to mend The floor to mop The food to shop Then the chicken to fry
I note the obvious differences in the human family. Some of us are serious, some thrive on comedy. Some declare their lives are lived
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
Shadows on the wall Noises down the hall Life doesn’t frighten me at all Bad dogs barking loud Big ghosts in a cloud
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
Curtains forcing their will against the wind, children sleep, exchanging dreams with seraphim. The city
A last love, proper in conclusion, should snip the wings forbidding further flight. But I, now,