#AmericanWriters
Give me your hand Make room for me to lead and follow you beyond this rage of poetry.
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
I keep on dying again. Veins collapse, opening like the Small fists of sleeping Children. Memory of old tombs,
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…
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
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?
Your skin like dawn Mine like musk One paints the beginning of a certain end. The other, the end of a
Tears The crystal rags Viscous tatters Of a worn-through soul Moans
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 note the obvious differences in the human family. Some of us are serious, some thrive on comedy. Some declare their lives are lived
The sun has come. The mist has gone. We see in the distance... our long way home. I was always yours to have.
I’ve got the children to tend The clothes to mend The floor to mop The food to shop Then the chicken to fry
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…
You drink a bitter draught. I sip the tears your eyes fight to… A cup of lees, of henbane steeped… Your breast is hot, Your anger black and cold,
We die, Welcoming Bluebeards to our darke… Stranglers to our outstretched nec… Stranglers, who neither care nor care to know that