#Americans #Blacks #Women
He bad O he bad He make a honky poot. Make it honky’s blue eyes squint
The sun has come. The mist has gone. We see in the distance... our long way home. I was always yours to have.
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
Beloved, In what other lives or lands Have I known your lips Your Hands Your Laughter brave
A free bird leaps on the back of the wind and floats downstream till the current ends and dips his wing
I note the obvious differences in the human family. Some of us are serious, some thrive on comedy. Some declare their lives are lived
Give me your hand Make room for me to lead and follow you beyond this rage of poetry.
Lying, thinking Last night How to find my soul a home Where water is not thirsty And bread loaf is not stone
Your skin like dawn Mine like musk One paints the beginning of a certain end. The other, the end of a
I keep on drying again. Veins collapse, opening like the Small fists of sleeping Children. Memory of old tombs,
She came home running back to the mothering blackness deep in the smothering blackness white tears icicle gold plains of… She came home running
A Rock, A River, A Tree Hosts to species long since depart… Mark the mastodon. The dinosaur, who left dry tokens Of their sojourn here
FOR DAVID P—B The eye follows, the land Slips upward, creases down, forms The gentle buttocks of a young Giant. In the nestle,
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…
Tears The crystal rags Viscous tatters Of a worn-through soul Moans