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

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,

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

Give me your hand Make room for me to lead and follow you beyond this rage of poetry.

One innocent spring your voice meant to me less than tires turning on a distant street. Your name, perhaps spoken,

FOR DAVID P—B The eye follows, the land Slips upward, creases down, forms The gentle buttocks of a young Giant. In the nestle,

She came home running back to the mothering blackness deep in the smothering blackness white tears icicle gold plains of… She came home running

A free bird leaps on the back of the wind and floats downstream till the current ends and dips his wing

Some clichty folks don’t know the facts, posin’ and preenin’ and puttin’ on acts, stretchin’ their backs.

I keep on dying again. Veins collapse, opening like the Small fists of sleeping Children. Memory of old tombs,

Funky blues Keen toed shoes High water pants Saddy night dance Red soda water

The sun has come. The mist has gone. We see in the distance... our long way home. I was always yours to have.

Lying, thinking Last night How to find my soul a home Where water is not thirsty And bread loaf is not stone

A last love, proper in conclusion, should snip the wings forbidding further flight. But I, now,