#AmericanWriters
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… Marked the mastodon, The dinosaur, who left dried token… Of their sojourn here
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
Lying, thinking Last night How to find my soul a home Where water is not thirsty And bread loaf is not stone
I keep on drying again. Veins collapse, opening like the Small fists of sleeping Children. Memory of old tombs,
Beloved, In what other lives or lands Have I known your lips Your Hands Your Laughter brave
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
A last love, proper in conclusion, should snip the wings forbidding further flight. But I, now,
Pretty women wonder where my secre… I’m not cute or built to suit a fa… But when I start to tell them, They think I’m telling lies. I say,
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
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
She came home running back to the mothering blackness deep in the smothering blackness white tears icicle gold plains of… She came home running
There are some nights when sleep plays coy, aloof and disdainful. And all the wiles that I employ to win
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
Curtains forcing their will against the wind, children sleep, exchanging dreams with seraphim. The city