#AmericanWriters
Some clichty folks don’t know the facts, posin’ and preenin’ and puttin’ on acts, stretchin’ their backs.
Pretty women wonder where my secre… I’m not cute or built to suit a fa… But when I start to tell them, They think I’m telling lies. I say,
I’ve got the children to tend The clothes to mend The floor to mop The food to shop Then the chicken to fry
Lying, thinking Last night How to find my soul a home Where water is not thirsty And bread loaf is not stone
I note the obvious differences in the human family. Some of us are serious, some thrive on comedy. Some declare their lives are lived
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
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
I keep on dying again. Veins collapse, opening like the Small fists of sleeping Children. Memory of old tombs,
Curtains forcing their will against the wind, children sleep, exchanging dreams with seraphim. The city
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
Funky blues Keen toed shoes High water pants Saddy night dance Red soda water
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…
Soft grey ghosts crawl up my sleev… to peer into my eyes while I within deny their threats and answer them with lies. Mushlike memories perform
The sun has come. The mist has gone. We see in the distance... our long way home. I was always yours to have.
FOR DAVID P—B The eye follows, the land Slips upward, creases down, forms The gentle buttocks of a young Giant. In the nestle,