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

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,

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

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

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

When you come to me, unbidden, Beckoning me To long-ago rooms, Where memories lie. Offering me, as to a child, an att…

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

There are some nights when sleep plays coy, aloof and disdainful. And all the wiles that I employ to win

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…

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

Your smile, delicate rumor of peace. Deafening revolutions nestle in th… cleavage of your breasts

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