#AmericanWriters #BlackWriters #FemaleWriters
I keep on dying again. Veins collapse, opening like the Small fists of sleeping Children. Memory of old tombs,
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
One innocent spring your voice meant to me less than tires turning on a distant street. Your name, perhaps spoken,
A last love, proper in conclusion, should snip the wings forbidding further flight. But I, now,
When you come to me, unbidden, Beckoning me To long-ago rooms, Where memories lie. Offering me, as to a child, an att…
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…
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…
You drink a bitter draught. I sip the tears your eyes fight to… A cup of lees, of henbane steeped… Your breast is hot, Your anger black and cold,
The sun has come. The mist has gone. We see in the distance... our long way home. I was always yours to have.
Funky blues Keen toed shoes High water pants Saddy night dance Red soda water
Your skin like dawn Mine like musk One paints the beginning of a certain end. The other, the end of a
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
She came home running back to the mothering blackness deep in the smothering blackness white tears icicle gold plains of… She came home running
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
We die, Welcoming Bluebeards to our darke… Stranglers to our outstretched nec… Stranglers, who neither care nor care to know that
