#AmericanWriters
THE PEACE of great doors be fo… Wait at the knobs, at the panel ob… Wait for the great hinges. The peace of great churches be for… Where the players of loft pipe org…
THE working girls in the morning… long lines of them afoot amid the… and factories, thousands with litt… lunches wrapped in newspapers unde… Each morning as I move through th…
THE BABY moon, a canoe, a silve… A ring of silver foxes, a mist of… One yellow star for a runner, and… O foxes, baby moon, runners, you a… Who squats, legs crossed and arms…
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.
I AM a copper wire slung in the a… Slim against the sun I make not e… Night and day I keep singing—humm… It is love and war and money; it i… tears, the work and want,
BOY heart of Johnny Jones—aching… Aching, and Buffalo Bill in town? Buffalo Bill and ponies, cowboys,… Some of us know All about it, Johnny Jones.
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…
THIS handful of grass, brown, says little. This quarter mile field of it, waving seeds ripening in the sun, is a lake of luminous firefly lavender. Prairie roses, two of them, climb dow...
THE GRAVE of Alexander Hamilt… The grave of Robert Fulton likewi… And in this yard stenogs, bundle b… An iron picket fence... and stream… ... easy is the sleep of Alexander…
IN Abraham Lincoln’s city, Where they remember his lawyer’s s… The place where they brought him Wrapped in battle flags, Wrapped in the smoke of memories
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...
WHITE MOON comes in on a baby… The shafts across her bed are flim… Out on the land White Moon shines… Shines and glimmers against gnarle… All silver to slow twisted shadows
THERE are no handles upon a lang… Whereby men take hold of it And mark it with signs for its rem… It is a river, this language, Once in a thousand years
WRITE your wishes on the door and come in. Stand outside in the pools of the harvest moon.
THE SUMMER shirt sale of a downtown haberdasher is glorified in a show-window slang: everybody understands the language: red dots, yellow circles, blue anchors, and dove-brown hooks, th...