#AmericanWriters
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…
Some clichty folks don’t know the facts, posin’ and preenin’ and puttin’ on acts, stretchin’ their backs.
The sun has come. The mist has gone. We see in the distance... our long way home. I was always yours to have.
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
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?
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
Beloved, In what other lives or lands Have I known your lips Your Hands Your Laughter brave
Curtains forcing their will against the wind, children sleep, exchanging dreams with seraphim. The city
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
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
I’ve got the children to tend The clothes to mend The floor to mop The food to shop Then the chicken to fry
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 last love, proper in conclusion, should snip the wings forbidding further flight. But I, now,
One innocent spring your voice meant to me less than tires turning on a distant street. Your name, perhaps spoken,