#AmericanWriters
I’ve got the children to tend The clothes to mend The floor to mop The food to shop Then the chicken to fry
A last love, proper in conclusion, should snip the wings forbidding further flight. But I, now,
We die, Welcoming Bluebeards to our darke… Stranglers to our outstretched nec… Stranglers, who neither care nor care to know that
One innocent spring your voice meant to me less than tires turning on a distant street. Your name, perhaps spoken,
Curtains forcing their will against the wind, children sleep, exchanging dreams with seraphim. The city
He bad O he bad He make a honky poot. Make it honky’s blue eyes squint
Beloved, In what other lives or lands Have I known your lips Your Hands Your Laughter brave
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
Some clichty folks don’t know the facts, posin’ and preenin’ and puttin’ on acts, stretchin’ their backs.
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
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,
I keep on drying again. Veins collapse, opening like the Small fists of sleeping Children. Memory of old tombs,
Her arms semaphore fat triangles, Pudgy hands bunched on layered hip… Where bones idle under years of fa… And lima beans. Her jowls shiver in accusation
I note the obvious differences in the human family. Some of us are serious, some thrive on comedy. Some declare their lives are lived
A free bird leaps on the back of the wind and floats downstream till the current ends and dips his wing