#AmericanWriters
Beloved, In what other lives or lands Have I known your lips Your Hands Your Laughter brave
Funky blues Keen toed shoes High water pants Saddy night dance Red soda water
Curtains forcing their will against the wind, children sleep, exchanging dreams with seraphim. The city
There are some nights when sleep plays coy, aloof and disdainful. And all the wiles that I employ to win
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
We were entwined in red rings Of blood and loneliness before The first snows fell Before muddy rivers seeded clouds Above a virgin forest, and
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
A last love, proper in conclusion, should snip the wings forbidding further flight. But I, now,
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
One innocent spring your voice meant to me less than tires turning on a distant street. Your name, perhaps spoken,
When I think about myself, I almost laugh myself to death, My life has been one great big jok… A dance that’s walked A song that’s spoke,
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
I keep on dying again. Veins collapse, opening like the Small fists of sleeping Children. Memory of old tombs,
Your skin like dawn Mine like musk One paints the beginning of a certain end. The other, the end of a
Lying, thinking Last night How to find my soul a home Where water is not thirsty And bread loaf is not stone