#AmericanWriters
Give me your hand Make room for me to lead and follow you beyond this rage of poetry.
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,
He bad O he bad He make a honky poot. Make it honky’s blue eyes squint
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 free bird leaps on the back of the wind and floats downstream till the current ends and dips his wing
I’ve got the children to tend The clothes to mend The floor to mop The food to shop Then the chicken to fry
FOR DAVID P—B The eye follows, the land Slips upward, creases down, forms The gentle buttocks of a young Giant. In the nestle,
Your skin like dawn Mine like musk One paints the beginning of a certain end. The other, the end of a
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,
Shadows on the wall Noises down the hall Life doesn’t frighten me at all Bad dogs barking loud Big ghosts in a cloud
We were entwined in red rings Of blood and loneliness before The first snows fell Before muddy rivers seeded clouds Above a virgin forest, and
Beloved, In what other lives or lands Have I known your lips Your Hands Your Laughter brave
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
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