#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
I keep on drying again. Veins collapse, opening like the Small fists of sleeping Children. Memory of old tombs,
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
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,
Shadows on the wall Noises down the hall Life doesn’t frighten me at all Bad dogs barking loud Big ghosts in a cloud
When you come to me, unbidden, Beckoning me To long-ago rooms, Where memories lie. Offering me, as to a child, an att…
We die, Welcoming Bluebeards to our darke… Stranglers to our outstretched nec… Stranglers, who neither care nor care to know that
They went home and told their wive… that never once in all their lives… had they known a girl like me, But... They went home. They said my house was licking cle…
A Rock, A River, A Tree Hosts to species long since depart… Mark the mastodon. The dinosaur, who left dry tokens Of their sojourn here
Your smile, delicate rumor of peace. Deafening revolutions nestle in th… cleavage of your breasts
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
My man is Black Golden Amber Cha… Warm mouths of Brandy Fine Cautious sunlight on a patterned r… Coughing laughter, rocked on a whi… Graceful turns on woolen stilts S…
A free bird leaps on the back of the wind and floats downstream till the current ends and dips his wing