#AmericanWriters
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…
FOR DAVID P—B The eye follows, the land Slips upward, creases down, forms The gentle buttocks of a young Giant. In the nestle,
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
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
Some clichty folks don’t know the facts, posin’ and preenin’ and puttin’ on acts, stretchin’ their backs.
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
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
One innocent spring your voice meant to me less than tires turning on a distant street. Your name, perhaps spoken,
A free bird leaps on the back of the wind and floats downstream till the current ends and dips his wing
Funky blues Keen toed shoes High water pants Saddy night dance Red soda water
Your hands easy weight, teasing the bees hived in my hair, your smile at th… slope of my cheek. On the occasion, you press
I’ve got the children to tend The clothes to mend The floor to mop The food to shop Then the chicken to fry
Tears The crystal rags Viscous tatters Of a worn-through soul Moans
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