#AmericanWriters
Curtains forcing their will against the wind, children sleep, exchanging dreams with seraphim. The city
We wear the mask that grins and li… It shades our cheeks and hides our… This debt we pay to human guile With torn and bleeding hearts… We smile and mouth the myriad subt…
I’ve got the children to tend The clothes to mend The floor to mop The food to shop Then the chicken to fry
I keep on dying 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
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
We die, Welcoming Bluebeards to our darke… Stranglers to our outstretched nec… Stranglers, who neither care nor care to know that
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?
Shadows on the wall Noises down the hall Life doesn’t frighten me at all Bad dogs barking loud Big ghosts in a cloud
The highway is full of big cars going nowhere fast And folks is smoking anything that… Some people wrap their lies around… And you sit wondering
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
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…
Pretty women wonder where my secre… I’m not cute or built to suit a fa… But when I start to tell them, They think I’m telling lies. I say,
One innocent spring your voice meant to me less than tires turning on a distant street. Your name, perhaps spoken,