#AmericanWriters
Your hands easy weight, teasing the bees hived in my hair, your smile at th… slope of my cheek. On the occasion, you press
Some clichty folks don’t know the facts, posin’ and preenin’ and puttin’ on acts, stretchin’ their backs.
One innocent spring your voice meant to me less than tires turning on a distant street. Your name, perhaps spoken,
Beloved, In what other lives or lands Have I known your lips Your Hands Your Laughter brave
I keep on dying again. Veins collapse, opening like the Small fists of sleeping Children. Memory of old tombs,
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,
FOR DAVID P—B The eye follows, the land Slips upward, creases down, forms The gentle buttocks of a young Giant. In the nestle,
When you come to me, unbidden, Beckoning me To long-ago rooms, Where memories lie. Offering me, as to a child, an att…
I’ve got the children to tend The clothes to mend The floor to mop The food to shop Then the chicken to fry
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,
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…
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
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 keep on drying again. Veins collapse, opening like the Small fists of sleeping Children. Memory of old tombs,
She came home running back to the mothering blackness deep in the smothering blackness white tears icicle gold plains of… She came home running