#AmericanWriters
Lying, thinking Last night How to find my soul a home Where water is not thirsty And bread loaf is not stone
The sun has come. The mist has gone. We see in the distance... our long way home. I was always yours to have.
She came home running back to the mothering blackness deep in the smothering blackness white tears icicle gold plains of… She came home running
Your smile, delicate rumor of peace. Deafening revolutions nestle in th… cleavage of your breasts
When you come to me, unbidden, Beckoning me To long-ago rooms, Where memories lie. Offering me, as to a child, an att…
My man is Black Golden Amber Cha… Warm mouths of Brandy Fine Cautious sunlight on a patterned r… Coughing laughter, rocked on a whi… Graceful turns on woolen stilts S…
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
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
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?
We die, Welcoming Bluebeards to our darke… Stranglers to our outstretched nec… Stranglers, who neither care nor care to know that
Funky blues Keen toed shoes High water pants Saddy night dance Red soda water
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,
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
I note the obvious differences in the human family. Some of us are serious, some thrive on comedy. Some declare their lives are lived
I’ve got the children to tend The clothes to mend The floor to mop The food to shop Then the chicken to fry