#AmericanWriters
The simple contact with a wooden s… recovered itself, began to spread… as it lay sprawling to consider th… patience looked at grief, where wa… eyes curled outside themes to sear…
Words after all are syllables just and you put them in their place
Someone has remembered to dry the… they have taken the accident out o… Afterward lilies for supper; there the lines in front of the window are rubbed on the table of stone
There we go in cars, did you guess… Carrying the till, memorizing its… apt at the essential such as rearr… languages. They occur from route t… like savages who wear shells.
Pieces clung to bedclothes. In th… Grass covered the dream of a serpe… dream turned into an opera. It was the opera that made the dre… in any country, could be Antarctic…
Early night and the evening bus Passing with a new wreath around Its straggled head. The push cart Halts and fifty pineapple eyes sta… Into the invalid light. We move
sound opens sound shank of globe strings… something like images are here opening up avenues to view a dome a distant clang reaches the edific…
At sunset from the top of the stai… the castle mallets wrenched from t… fell from ambush into flame flew i… above the stoneware a latch like m… the green; he stood waist high und…
After so many hours spent in the r… One wonders what the room will do. Whether speech or action will be f… And whether the weather will be fi… To begin.
I won’t let anybody take a drink out of this barrel of tears I’ve collected from you. Least of all another woman.
Since I’ve decided to revolutioni… since ” decided ”
Once more riding down to Venice o… the air free of misdemeanor, at re… Once again whiteness like the whit… Echoes of other poems...
I go separately The sweet knees of oxen have press… ghosts with ingots have burned the… it is the dungaree darkness with C… where the westerly winds
On this dry prepared path walk hea… This is not “dinner music.” This… heavy as eyelids. Beams are laid. The master cuts m… Sound lays the structure. Sound l…
That there should never be air in a picture surprises me. It would seem to be only a picture of a certain kind, a portrait in p… or glue, somewhere a stickiness