#AmericanWriters
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
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,
I keep on drying again. Veins collapse, opening like the Small fists of sleeping Children. Memory of old tombs,
Lying, thinking Last night How to find my soul a home Where water is not thirsty And bread loaf is not stone
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
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
Your smile, delicate rumor of peace. Deafening revolutions nestle in th… cleavage of your breasts
He bad O he bad He make a honky poot. Make it honky’s blue eyes squint
The sun has come. The mist has gone. We see in the distance... our long way home. I was always yours to have.
A free bird leaps on the back of the wind and floats downstream till the current ends and dips his wing
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…
I’ve got the children to tend The clothes to mend The floor to mop The food to shop Then the chicken to fry
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,
Some clichty folks don’t know the facts, posin’ and preenin’ and puttin’ on acts, stretchin’ their backs.