#AmericanWriters
I keep on dying again. Veins collapse, opening like the Small fists of sleeping Children. Memory of old tombs,
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
Funky blues Keen toed shoes High water pants Saddy night dance Red soda water
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,
Your skin like dawn Mine like musk One paints the beginning of a certain end. The other, the end of a
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
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’ve got the children to tend The clothes to mend The floor to mop The food to shop Then the chicken to fry
He bad O he bad He make a honky poot. Make it honky’s blue eyes squint
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
A free bird leaps on the back of the wind and floats downstream till the current ends and dips his wing
I note the obvious differences in the human family. Some of us are serious, some thrive on comedy. Some declare their lives are lived
She came home running back to the mothering blackness deep in the smothering blackness white tears icicle gold plains of… She came home running
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,