#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
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 keep on drying again. Veins collapse, opening like the Small fists of sleeping Children. Memory of old tombs,
Your hands easy weight, teasing the bees hived in my hair, your smile at th… slope of my cheek. On the occasion, you press
She came home running back to the mothering blackness deep in the smothering blackness white tears icicle gold plains of… She came home running
The night has been long, The wound has been deep, The pit has been dark, And the walls have been steep. Under a dead blue sky on a distant…
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
Funky blues Keen toed shoes High water pants Saddy night dance Red soda water
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
When you come to me, unbidden, Beckoning me To long-ago rooms, Where memories lie. Offering me, as to a child, an att…
Give me your hand Make room for me to lead and follow you beyond this rage of poetry.
FOR DAVID P—B The eye follows, the land Slips upward, creases down, forms The gentle buttocks of a young Giant. In the nestle,
The sun has come. The mist has gone. We see in the distance... our long way home. I was always yours to have.
We wear the mask that grins and li… It shades our cheeks and hides our… This debt we pay to human guile With torn and bleeding hearts… We smile and mouth the myriad subt…