#AmericanWriters
Some clichty folks don’t know the facts, posin’ and preenin’ and puttin’ on acts, stretchin’ their backs.
I keep on dying again. Veins collapse, opening like the Small fists of sleeping Children. Memory of old tombs,
Tears The crystal rags Viscous tatters Of a worn-through soul Moans
Your smile, delicate rumor of peace. Deafening revolutions nestle in th… cleavage of your breasts
A Rock, A River, A Tree Hosts to species long since depart… Marked the mastodon, The dinosaur, who left dried token… Of their sojourn here
You may write me down in history With your bitter, twisted lies, You may trod me in the very dirt But still, like dust, I’ll rise. Does my sassiness upset you?
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
Shadows on the wall Noises down the hall Life doesn’t frighten me at all Bad dogs barking loud Big ghosts in a cloud
When I was young, I used to Watch behind the curtains As men walked up and down the stre… Young men sharp as mustard. See them. Men are always
A free bird leaps on the back of the wind and floats downstream till the current ends and dips his wing
My man is Black Golden Amber Cha… Warm mouths of Brandy Fine Cautious sunlight on a patterned r… Coughing laughter, rocked on a whi… Graceful turns on woolen stilts S…
Your skin like dawn Mine like musk One paints the beginning of a certain end. The other, the end of a
Beloved, In what other lives or lands Have I known your lips Your Hands Your Laughter brave
A last love, proper in conclusion, should snip the wings forbidding further flight. But I, now,
I note the obvious differences in the human family. Some of us are serious, some thrive on comedy. Some declare their lives are lived