#AmericanWriters
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,
The sun has come. The mist has gone. We see in the distance... our long way home. I was always yours to have.
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
One innocent spring your voice meant to me less than tires turning on a distant street. Your name, perhaps spoken,
A last love, proper in conclusion, should snip the wings forbidding further flight. But I, now,
Some clichty folks don’t know the facts, posin’ and preenin’ and puttin’ on acts, stretchin’ their backs.
A free bird leaps on the back of the wind and floats downstream till the current ends and dips his wing
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
Funky blues Keen toed shoes High water pants Saddy night dance Red soda water
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
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
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
FOR DAVID P—B The eye follows, the land Slips upward, creases down, forms The gentle buttocks of a young Giant. In the nestle,
Your smile, delicate rumor of peace. Deafening revolutions nestle in th… cleavage of your breasts