#AmericanWriters
We, this people, on a small and lo… Traveling through casual space Past aloof stars, across the way o… To a destination where all signs t… It is possible and imperative that…
I keep on drying again. Veins collapse, opening like the Small fists of sleeping Children. Memory of old tombs,
He bad O he bad He make a honky poot. Make it honky’s blue eyes squint
Give me your hand Make room for me to lead and follow you beyond this rage of poetry.
Curtains forcing their will against the wind, children sleep, exchanging dreams with seraphim. The city
Shadows on the wall Noises down the hall Life doesn’t frighten me at all Bad dogs barking loud Big ghosts in a cloud
Tears The crystal rags Viscous tatters Of a worn-through soul Moans
I note the obvious differences in the human family. Some of us are serious, some thrive on comedy. Some declare their lives are lived
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
FOR DAVID P—B The eye follows, the land Slips upward, creases down, forms The gentle buttocks of a young Giant. In the nestle,
Funky blues Keen toed shoes High water pants Saddy night dance Red soda water
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,
There is no warning rattle at the… nor heavy feet to stomp the foyer… Safe in the dark prison, I know t… light slides over the fingered work of a toothless
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
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,