#AmericanWriters
Lying, thinking Last night How to find my soul a home Where water is not thirsty And bread loaf is not stone
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
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,
We die, Welcoming Bluebeards to our darke… Stranglers to our outstretched nec… Stranglers, who neither care nor care to know that
There are some nights when sleep plays coy, aloof and disdainful. And all the wiles that I employ to win
A free bird leaps on the back of the wind and floats downstream till the current ends and dips his wing
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…
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
I note the obvious differences in the human family. Some of us are serious, some thrive on comedy. Some declare their lives are lived
FOR DAVID P—B The eye follows, the land Slips upward, creases down, forms The gentle buttocks of a young Giant. In the nestle,
Your skin like dawn Mine like musk One paints the beginning of a certain end. The other, the end of a
Curtains forcing their will against the wind, children sleep, exchanging dreams with seraphim. The city
I keep on drying again. Veins collapse, opening like the Small fists of sleeping Children. Memory of old tombs,
A last love, proper in conclusion, should snip the wings forbidding further flight. But I, now,
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…