(1979)
#AmericanWriters
On the unbreathing sides of hills they play, a specklike girl and bo… alone, but near a specklike house. The Sun’s suspended eye blinks casually, and then they wad…
Remembering the Strait of Belle… some northerly harbor of Labrador, before he became a schoolteacher a great—uncle painted a big pictur… Receding for miles on either side
The brown enormous odor he lived b… was too close, with its breathing… for him to judge. The floor was ro… was plastered halfway up with glas… Light—lashed, self—righteous, abov…
Although it is a cold evening, down by one of the fishhouses an old man sits netting, his net, in the gloaming almost in… a dark purple—brown,
I live only here, between your eye… But I live in your world. What do… —Collect no interest—otherwise wha… Above all I am not that staring m…
In the cold, cold parlor my mother laid out Arthur beneath the chromographs: Edward, Prince of Wales, with Princess Alexandra,
To the sagging wharf few ships could come. The population numbered two giants, an idiot, a dwarf, a gentle storekeeper
The sun is blazing and the sky is… Umbrellas clothe the beach in ever… Naked, you trot across the avenue. Oh, never have I seen a dog so ba… Naked and pink, without a single h…
Beneath that loved and celebrated… silent, bored really blindly veine… grieves, maybe lives and lets live, passes bets, something moving but invisibly,
From Brooklyn, over the Brooklyn… please come flying. In a cloud of fiery pale chemicals… please come flying, to the rapid rolling of thousands…
Hidden, oh hidden in the high fog the house we live in, beneath the magnetic rock, rain—, rainbow—ridden,
I can make out the rigging of a sc… a mile off; I can count the new cones on the spruce. It is… the pale bay wears a milky skin; t… no clouds except for one long, car…
The state with the prettiest name, the state that floats in brackish… held together by mangrave roots that bear while living oysters in… and when dead strew white swamps w…
There are too many waterfalls here… hurry too rapidly down to the sea, and the pressure of so many clouds… makes them spill over the sides in… turning to waterfalls under our ve…
From a magician’s midnight sleeve the radio-singers distribute all their love-songs over the dew-wet lawns. And like a fortune-teller’s