#AmericanWriters
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,
There are some nights when sleep plays coy, aloof and disdainful. And all the wiles that I employ to win
We were entwined in red rings Of blood and loneliness before The first snows fell Before muddy rivers seeded clouds Above a virgin forest, and
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,
Lying, thinking Last night How to find my soul a home Where water is not thirsty And bread loaf is not stone
Beloveds, now we know that we know… Without notice, our dear love can… In the instant that Michael is go… Though we are many, each of us is… Only when we confess our confusion…
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
Curtains forcing their will against the wind, children sleep, exchanging dreams with seraphim. The city
Your skin like dawn Mine like musk One paints the beginning of a certain end. The other, the end of a
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
She came home running back to the mothering blackness deep in the smothering blackness white tears icicle gold plains of… She came home running
Give me your hand Make room for me to lead and follow you beyond this rage of poetry.
Beloved, In what other lives or lands Have I known your lips Your Hands Your Laughter brave
He bad O he bad He make a honky poot. Make it honky’s blue eyes squint
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?