#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,
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,
Lying, thinking Last night How to find my soul a home Where water is not thirsty And bread loaf is not stone
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…
She came home running back to the mothering blackness deep in the smothering blackness white tears icicle gold plains of… She came home running
Some clichty folks don’t know the facts, posin’ and preenin’ and puttin’ on acts, stretchin’ their backs.
Tears The crystal rags Viscous tatters Of a worn-through soul Moans
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
One innocent spring your voice meant to me less than tires turning on a distant street. Your name, perhaps spoken,
Your smile, delicate rumor of peace. Deafening revolutions nestle in th… cleavage of your breasts
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
The sun has come. The mist has gone. We see in the distance... our long way home. I was always yours to have.
We die, Welcoming Bluebeards to our darke… Stranglers to our outstretched nec… Stranglers, who neither care nor care to know that
Give me your hand Make room for me to lead and follow you beyond this rage of poetry.
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…