#AmericanWriters
Lying, thinking Last night How to find my soul a home Where water is not thirsty And bread loaf is not stone
Curtains forcing their will against the wind, children sleep, exchanging dreams with seraphim. The city
Your smile, delicate rumor of peace. Deafening revolutions nestle in th… cleavage of your breasts
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…
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
Beloved, In what other lives or lands Have I known your lips Your Hands Your Laughter brave
A free bird leaps on the back of the wind and floats downstream till the current ends and dips his wing
I keep on dying again. Veins collapse, opening like the Small fists of sleeping Children. Memory of old tombs,
The sun has come. The mist has gone. We see in the distance... our long way home. I was always yours to have.
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
Some clichty folks don’t know the facts, posin’ and preenin’ and puttin’ on acts, stretchin’ their backs.
The night has been long, The wound has been deep, The pit has been dark, And the walls have been steep. Under a dead blue sky on a distant…
When you come to me, unbidden, Beckoning me To long-ago rooms, Where memories lie. Offering me, as to a child, an att…
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
Your skin like dawn Mine like musk One paints the beginning of a certain end. The other, the end of a