#AmericanWriters
The sun has come. The mist has gone. We see in the distance... our long way home. I was always yours to have.
One innocent spring your voice meant to me less than tires turning on a distant street. Your name, perhaps spoken,
We, unaccustomed to courage exiles from delight live coiled in shells of lonelines… until love leaves its high holy te… and comes into our sight
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
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,
You may write me down in history With your bitter, twisted lies, You may trod me in the very dirt But still, like dust, I’ll rise. Does my sassiness upset you?
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
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
Some clichty folks don’t know the facts, posin’ and preenin’ and puttin’ on acts, stretchin’ their backs.
The night has been long, The wound has been deep, The pit has been dark, And the walls have been steep. Under a dead blue sky on a distant…
A last love, proper in conclusion, should snip the wings forbidding further flight. But I, now,
Your skin like dawn Mine like musk One paints the beginning of a certain end. The other, the end of a
Your smile, delicate rumor of peace. Deafening revolutions nestle in th… cleavage of your breasts
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
Beloved, In what other lives or lands Have I known your lips Your Hands Your Laughter brave