Masks drop to the groundCages crumble down
I wrote this poem in 1984.
Storm song of the Hawthorn
We are a countryin political dance across the heads of matches.accuse the sticksfor being kindlingwanting to ignitewhile…
We may all die
of the next
I once had a sonI held him on his first day in the worldRocked him as they stitched his traumatized mother upPromised that I would be there…
I’m an average AmericanI’m 43% cruel and stupid.My clouded reasoning blightsevery new day.I wash my hands in bloodfrom the…
Came out of the closet that fine day.Shouted out, world this is me.My old secret identity,made new and…