#AmericanWriters
She came home running back to the mothering blackness deep in the smothering blackness white tears icicle gold plains of… She came home running
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…
They went home and told their wive… that never once in all their lives… had they known a girl like me, But... They went home. They said my house was licking cle…
Give me your hand Make room for me to lead and follow you beyond this rage of poetry.
Curtains forcing their will against the wind, children sleep, exchanging dreams with seraphim. The city
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…
Beloved, In what other lives or lands Have I known your lips Your Hands Your Laughter brave
A last love, proper in conclusion, should snip the wings forbidding further flight. But I, now,
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,
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
I keep on dying again. Veins collapse, opening like the Small fists of sleeping Children. Memory of old tombs,
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
One innocent spring your voice meant to me less than tires turning on a distant street. Your name, perhaps spoken,
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