#AmericanWriters
LET us sit by a hissing steam rad… And let us talk about milk wagon d… Let us keep our feet in wool slipp… Let us write of olden, golden days… A roustabout hunched on a coal wag…
I THOUGHT of killing myself be… I don’t care like I used to; I la… When the sun is in my eyes and the…
THE SIX month child Fresh from the tub Wriggles in our hands. This is our fish child. Give her a nickname: Slippery.
I KNOW an ice handler who wears… pearl buttons the size of a dollar… And he lugs a hundred—pound hunk i… box, helps himself to cold ham and… Tells the bartender it’s hotter th…
THE CHILD Margaret begins to w… All the numbers come well-born, sh… Both 1 and 7 are straightforward,… The 6 and 9 salute as dancing sist… All the numbers are well-born, onl…
THE shadows of the ships Rock on the crest In the low blue lustre Of the tardy and the soft inrollin… A long brown bar at the dip of the…
A STORM of white petals, Buds throwing open baby fists Into hands of broad flowers. Red roses running upward, Clambering to the clutches of life
TAKE a hold now On the silver handles here, Six silver handles, One for each of his old pals. Take hold
NEITHER rose leaves gathered in… Cinders-these-hissing in a marl an…
AMONG the bumble-bees in red-top… I read your heart in a book. And your mouth of blue pansy—I kn… And I have seen a woman with her… And the blue pansy mouth sang to t…
HERE is a face that says half-past seven the same way whether a murder or a wedding goes on, whether a funeral or a picnic crowd passes. A tall one I know at the end of a hallway broo...
THE BRASS medallion profile of… It is not jingling with loose chan… It is not stuck up in a show place… I carry it in a special secret poc… And it is under my pillow at night…
And this will be all? And the gates will never open agai… And the dust and the wind will pla… And you will look to the mountains And the mountains will look to you
FLAT lands on the end of town where real estate men are crying new subdivisions, The sunsets pour blood and fire over you hundreds and hundreds of nights, flat lands—blood and fire of...
MRS. GABRIELLE GIOVANNI… every morning at nine o’clock With kindling wood piled on top of… looking straight ahead to find the… Her daughter-in-law, Mrs. Pietro…