#AmericanWriters
Your hands easy weight, teasing the bees hived in my hair, your smile at th… slope of my cheek. On the occasion, you press
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
One innocent spring your voice meant to me less than tires turning on a distant street. Your name, perhaps spoken,
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
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,
A free bird leaps on the back of the wind and floats downstream till the current ends and dips his wing
You drink a bitter draught. I sip the tears your eyes fight to… A cup of lees, of henbane steeped… Your breast is hot, Your anger black and cold,
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
FOR DAVID P—B The eye follows, the land Slips upward, creases down, forms The gentle buttocks of a young Giant. In the nestle,
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
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 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
Give me your hand Make room for me to lead and follow you beyond this rage of poetry.
I keep on drying 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