#AmericanWriters
FOR DAVID P—B The eye follows, the land Slips upward, creases down, forms The gentle buttocks of a young Giant. In the nestle,
We die, Welcoming Bluebeards to our darke… Stranglers to our outstretched nec… Stranglers, who neither care nor care to know 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
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,
Your hands easy weight, teasing the bees hived in my hair, your smile at th… slope of my cheek. On the occasion, you press
I note the obvious differences in the human family. Some of us are serious, some thrive on comedy. Some declare their lives are lived
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
Tears The crystal rags Viscous tatters Of a worn-through soul Moans
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?
Lying, thinking Last night How to find my soul a home Where water is not thirsty And bread loaf is not stone
Give me your hand Make room for me to lead and follow you beyond this rage of poetry.
I keep on dying again. Veins collapse, opening like the Small fists of sleeping Children. Memory of old tombs,
Your skin like dawn Mine like musk One paints the beginning of a certain end. The other, the end of a
When you come to me, unbidden, Beckoning me To long-ago rooms, Where memories lie. Offering me, as to a child, an att…