#AmericanWriters
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
Your hands easy weight, teasing the bees hived in my hair, your smile at th… slope of my cheek. On the occasion, you press
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
She came home running back to the mothering blackness deep in the smothering blackness white tears icicle gold plains of… She came home running
I’ve got the children to tend The clothes to mend The floor to mop The food to shop Then the chicken to fry
There are some nights when sleep plays coy, aloof and disdainful. And all the wiles that I employ to win
I keep on drying again. Veins collapse, opening like the Small fists of sleeping Children. Memory of old tombs,
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
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,
When you come to me, unbidden, Beckoning me To long-ago rooms, Where memories lie. Offering me, as to a child, an att…
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…
He bad O he bad He make a honky poot. Make it honky’s blue eyes squint
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…