#AmericanWriters
Beloveds, now we know that we know… Without notice, our dear love can… In the instant that Michael is go… Though we are many, each of us is… Only when we confess our confusion…
One innocent spring your voice meant to me less than tires turning on a distant street. Your name, perhaps spoken,
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,
FOR DAVID P—B The eye follows, the land Slips upward, creases down, forms The gentle buttocks of a young Giant. In the nestle,
There are some nights when sleep plays coy, aloof and disdainful. And all the wiles that I employ to win
Your smile, delicate rumor of peace. Deafening revolutions nestle in th… cleavage of your breasts
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
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
A last love, proper in conclusion, should snip the wings forbidding further flight. But I, now,
A free bird leaps on the back of the wind and floats downstream till the current ends and dips his wing
I keep on drying again. Veins collapse, opening like the Small fists of sleeping Children. Memory of old tombs,
Give me your hand Make room for me to lead and follow you beyond this rage of poetry.
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
Soft grey ghosts crawl up my sleev… to peer into my eyes while I within deny their threats and answer them with lies. Mushlike memories perform
He bad O he bad He make a honky poot. Make it honky’s blue eyes squint