Tears The crystal rags Viscous tatters Of a worn-through soul Moans

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

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,

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

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

The sun has come. The mist has gone. We see in the distance... our long way home. I was always yours to have.

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

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

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

FOR DAVID P—B The eye follows, the land Slips upward, creases down, forms The gentle buttocks of a young Giant. In the nestle,

Your hands easy weight, teasing the bees hived in my hair, your smile at th… slope of my cheek. On the occasion, you press

A last love, proper in conclusion, should snip the wings forbidding further flight. But I, now,

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…

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?

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