#AmericanWriters
DEATH is stronger than all the g… the governments are men and men di… death laughs: Now you see 'em, now… Death is stronger than all proud m… snips proud men on the nose, throw…
LET me be monosyllabic to-day, O… Yesterday I loosed a snarl of wor… on a child. To-day, let me be monosyllabic … a… who wash sunlight in their fingers…
FOR the second time in a year thi… Her husband is a cornice manufactu… Yesterday she washed her hands for… Now the head physician touches his…
SHE sits in the dust at the walls And makes cigars, Bending at the bench With fingers wage-anxious, Changing her sweat for the day’s p…
TWO Swede families live downstairs and an Irish policeman upstairs, and an old soldier, Uncle Joe. Two Swede boys go upstairs and see Joe. His wife is dead, his only son is dead, and ...
I AM the undertow Washing tides of power Battering the pillars Under your things of high law. I am a sleepless
Wilson and Pilcer and Snack stood… Wilson said, ‘What is its name? I… it? Is it a he or a she? How old… it cost to feed? How much does it… one cost? If it dies, what will th…
THERE was a late autumn cricket, And two smoldering mountain sunset… Under the valley roads of her eyes… There was a late autumn cricket, A hangover of summer song,
Sobs En Route to a Penitentiary Good-by now to the streets and the… locking hubs, The sun coming on the brass buckle… The muscles of the horses sliding…
ELSIE FLIMMERWON, you got a… The houses go wild when you finish… It is long ago, Elsie Flimmerwon,… It is long ago, Elsie, and now th… Then you were a little thing in ch…
THE SEA rocks have a green moss… The pine rocks have red berries. I have memories of you. Speak to me of how you miss me. Tell me the hours go long and slow…
THE monotone of the rain is beaut… And the sudden rise and slow relap… Of the long multitudinous rain. The sun on the hills is beautiful, Or a captured sunset sea-flung,
THREE violins are trying their h… The piece is MacDowell’s Wild Ro… And the time of the wild rose And the leaves of the wild rose And the dew-shot eyes of the wild…
THE HORSE’S name was Remorse. There were people said, ‘Gee, wha… And they were Edgar Allan Poe bu… They called him Remorse. When he was a gelding
HOKUSAI’S portrait of himself Tells what his hat was like And his arms and legs. The only f… Are a river and a mountain And two laughing farmers.