#AmericanWriters
Tears The crystal rags Viscous tatters Of a worn-through soul Moans
Your hands easy weight, teasing the bees hived in my hair, your smile at th… slope of my cheek. On the occasion, you press
Lying, thinking Last night How to find my soul a home Where water is not thirsty And bread loaf is not stone
Funky blues Keen toed shoes High water pants Saddy night dance Red soda water
A last love, proper in conclusion, should snip the wings forbidding further flight. But I, now,
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
He bad O he bad He make a honky poot. Make it honky’s blue eyes squint
One innocent spring your voice meant to me less than tires turning on a distant street. Your name, perhaps spoken,
I keep on dying again. Veins collapse, opening like the Small fists of sleeping Children. Memory of old tombs,
Beloved, In what other lives or lands Have I known your lips Your Hands Your Laughter brave
Shadows on the wall Noises down the hall Life doesn’t frighten me at all Bad dogs barking loud Big ghosts in a cloud
I’ve got the children to tend The clothes to mend The floor to mop The food to shop Then the chicken to fry
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…
The sun has come. The mist has gone. We see in the distance... our long way home. I was always yours to have.
A free bird leaps on the back of the wind and floats downstream till the current ends and dips his wing