#AmericanWriters
I keep on dying again. Veins collapse, opening like the Small fists of sleeping Children. Memory of old tombs,
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
We die, Welcoming Bluebeards to our darke… Stranglers to our outstretched nec… Stranglers, who neither care nor care to know 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
Beloved, In what other lives or lands Have I known your lips Your Hands Your Laughter brave
I’ve got the children to tend The clothes to mend The floor to mop The food to shop Then the chicken to fry
Curtains forcing their will against the wind, children sleep, exchanging dreams with seraphim. The city
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
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 free bird leaps on the back of the wind and floats downstream till the current ends and dips his wing
Give me your hand Make room for me to lead and follow you beyond this rage of poetry.
Your hands easy weight, teasing the bees hived in my hair, your smile at th… slope of my cheek. On the occasion, you press
Shadows on the wall Noises down the hall Life doesn’t frighten me at all Bad dogs barking loud Big ghosts in a cloud
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