#AmericanWriters
Many ways to say good night. Fireworks at a pier on the Fourth… spell it with red wheels and yello… They fizz in the air, touch the wa… Rockets make a trajectory of gold-…
SMOKE of the fields in spring is… Smoke of the leaves in autumn anot… Smoke of a steel-mill roof or a ba… They all go up in a line with a sm… Or they twist … in the slow twist…
DID I see a crucifix in your eye… and nails and Roman soldiers and a dusk Golgotha? Did I see Mary, the changed woman… washing the feet of all men,
SLEEP is a maker of makers. Birds sleep. Feet cling to a perch. Look at the balance. Let the legs loosen, the backbone untwist, the head go heavy over, the whole works tumbles a done bi...
I SHALL never forget you, Broad… Your golden and calling lights. I’ll remember you long, Tall-walled river of rush and play… Hearts that know you hate you
BEES and a honeycomb in the drie… And I ask no better a winding she… (over the earth and under the sun.… Let the bees go honey-hunting with… Let there be wings and yellow dust…
(For S. A.)TO write one book in… or five books in one year, to be the painter and the thing pa… ... where are we, bo? Wait-get his number.
THE ROSES slanted crimson sobs On the night sky hair of the women… And the long light-fingered men Spoke to the dark-haired women, ‘Nothing lovelier, nothing lovelie…
I AM the undertow Washing tides of power Battering the pillars Under your things of high law. I am a sleepless
EARLY May, after cold rain the… Irish setter pup finds a corner ne… Cuddling there he crosses forepaws… Sideways on this pillow, dozing in… Browns of hazel nut, mahogany, ros…
PIETRO has twenty red and blue… They flutter and dance pulling Pi… A nickel apiece is what they sell… Wishing children tag Pietro’s hee… He sells out and goes the streets…
THE FLUTTER of blue pigeon’s… Under a river bridge Hunting a clean dry arch, A corner for a sleep– This flutters here in a woman’s ha…
Chatter of birds two by two raises… showing the russet of old stones r… And the long willows drowse on the… joined songs of day-end, feathery… It is too much for the long willow…
MEMORY of you is . . . a blue s… I cannot remember the name of it. Alongside a bold dripping poppy is… And they cover you.
I SALUTED a nobody. I saw him in a looking-glass. He smiled—so did I. He crumpled the skin on his forehe… frowning—so did I.