#AmericanWriters
Funky blues Keen toed shoes High water pants Saddy night dance Red soda water
There are some nights when sleep plays coy, aloof and disdainful. And all the wiles that I employ to win
I keep on dying again. Veins collapse, opening like the Small fists of sleeping Children. Memory of old tombs,
Lying, thinking Last night How to find my soul a home Where water is not thirsty And bread loaf is not stone
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
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, 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…
Your smile, delicate rumor of peace. Deafening revolutions nestle in th… cleavage of your breasts
She came home running back to the mothering blackness deep in the smothering blackness white tears icicle gold plains of… She came home running
He bad O he bad He make a honky poot. Make it honky’s blue eyes squint
Tears The crystal rags Viscous tatters Of a worn-through soul Moans
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…
The highway is full of big cars going nowhere fast And folks is smoking anything that… Some people wrap their lies around… And you sit wondering
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
When love is a shimmering curtain Before a door of chance That leads to a world in question Wherein the macabrous dance Of bones that rattle in silence