You may write me down in history With your bitter, twisted lies, You may trod me in the very dirt But still, like dust, I’ll rise. Does my sassiness upset you?

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

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

Curtains forcing their will against the wind, children sleep, exchanging dreams with seraphim. The city

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,

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,

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

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

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

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

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

Beloved, In what other lives or lands Have I known your lips Your Hands Your Laughter brave

I note the obvious differences in the human family. Some of us are serious, some thrive on comedy. Some declare their lives are lived

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