#AmericanWriters
I keep on dying again. Veins collapse, opening like the Small fists of sleeping Children. Memory of old tombs,
I note the obvious differences in the human family. Some of us are serious, some thrive on comedy. Some declare their lives are lived
Tears The crystal rags Viscous tatters Of a worn-through soul Moans
Curtains forcing their will against the wind, children sleep, exchanging dreams with seraphim. The city
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
When I think about myself, I almost laugh myself to death, My life has been one great big jok… A dance that’s walked A song that’s spoke,
Beloved, In what other lives or lands Have I known your lips Your Hands Your Laughter brave
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
Her arms semaphore fat triangles, Pudgy hands bunched on layered hip… Where bones idle under years of fa… And lima beans. Her jowls shiver in accusation
She came home running back to the mothering blackness deep in the smothering blackness white tears icicle gold plains of… She came home running
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…
Funky blues Keen toed shoes High water pants Saddy night dance Red soda water
I’ve got the children to tend The clothes to mend The floor to mop The food to shop Then the chicken to fry
I keep on drying again. Veins collapse, opening like the Small fists of sleeping Children. Memory of old tombs,
A free bird leaps on the back of the wind and floats downstream till the current ends and dips his wing