#AmericanWriters
DAYS of the dead men, Danny. Drum for the dead, drum on your remembering heart. Jaurès, a great love-heart of Fra… a slug of lead in the red valves.
I will read ashes for you, if you… I will look on the fire and tell y… And out of the red and black tongu… I will tell how fire comes And how fire runs far as the sea.
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…
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…
I have seen The old gods go And the new gods come. Day by day And year by year
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.
The lean hands of wagon men put out pointing fingers here, picked this crossway, put it on a… set up their sawbucks, fixed their… found a hitching place for the pon…
WHEN the sea is everywhere from horizon to horizon .. when the salt and blue fill a circle of horizons .. I swear again how I know
A STONE face higher than six ho… years gazing at the world seeming… A boy passes and throws a niggerhe… end of the nose from the stone fac… mud ball that spatters the right e…
EMPTY battlefields keep their ph… Grass crawls over old gun wheels And a nodding Canada thistle flin… Into the summer’s southwest wind, Wrapping a root in the rust of a b…
I REMEMBER the Chillicothe ba… And the shoulders of the Chillico… And the umpire’s voice was hoarse…
Have I broken the smaller taberna… And in the destruction of these se… I know nothing today, what I have… They were beautiful in a way, thes… They were beautiful—why did the hy…
YOU never come back. I say good-by when I see you goin… The hopeless open doors that call… And take you then for—how many cen… How many cents for the sleepy eyes…
FACES of two eternities keep loo… One is Omar Khayam and the red st… wherein men forget yesterday and t… and remember only the voices and s… the stories, newspapers and fights…
STUFF of the moon Runs on the lapping sand Out to the longest shadows. Under the curving willows, And round the creep of the wave li…