#AmericanWriters
My grandfather said to me as we sat on the wagon seat, “Be sure to remember to always speak to everyone you meet.” We met a stranger on foot.
Beneath that loved and celebrated… silent, bored really blindly veine… grieves, maybe lives and lets live, passes bets, something moving but invisibly,
Here, above, cracks in the buildings are filled… The whole shadow of Man is only a… It lies at his feet like a circle… and he makes an inverted pin, the…
I dreamed that dead, and meditatin… I lay upon a grave, or bed, (at least, some cold and close—bui… In the cold heart, its final thoug… stood frozen, drawn immense and cl…
About the size of an old—style dol… American or Canadian, mostly the same whites, gray green… —this little painting (a sketch fo… has never earned any money in its…
This is a day when truths will out… leak from the dangling telephone e… sapping the festooned switchboards… fall from the windows, blow from o… —the vague, slight unremarkable co…
This is the time of year when almost every night the frail, illegal fire balloons a… Climbing the mountain height, rising toward a saint
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…
In Worcester, Massachusetts, I went with Aunt Consuelo to keep her dentist’s appointment and sat and waited for her in the dentist’s waiting room.
Here is a coast; here is a harbor; here, after a meager diet of horiz… impractically shaped and—who knows… sad and harsh beneath their frivol… with a little church on top of one…
On the fair green hills of Rio There grows a fearful stain: The poor who come to Rio And can’t go home again. On the hills a million people,
We must admire her perfect aim, this huntress of the winter air whose level weapon needs no sight, if it were not that everywhere her game is sure, her shot is righ…
The roaring alongside he takes for… and that every so often the world… He runs, he runs to the south, fin… in a state of controlled panic, a… The beach hisses like fat. On his…
Unfunny uncles who insist in trying on a lady’s hat, —oh, even if the joke falls flat, we share your slight transvestite… in spite of our embarrassment.
This is the house of Bedlam. This is the man that lies in the house of Bedlam. This is the time of the tragic man