#AmericanWriters
The flag is folded lengthwise, and lengthwise again, folding toward the open edge, so that the union of stars on the… field remains outward in full view…
Beards of water some of them have. Others are blowing whistles of wat… Faces astonished that constant wat… jumps from their mouths.
I like being in your apartment, an… As in the woods I wouldn’t want t… or change the play of sun and shad… The yellow kitchen stool belongs r… against white plaster. I haven’t u…
The popcorn is greasy, and I forg… A pill that’s a bomb inside the st… The Embassy blows up. Eructations… cauliflowers giganticize into moti… screen is orange, is crackling fle…
What does love look like? We know the shape of death. Death is a clo… immense and awesome. At first a li… is lifted from the eye of light: there is a clap of sound, a white…
Body my house my horse my hound what will I do when you are fallen Where will I sleep
In the pond in the park all things are doubled: Long buildings hang and wriggle gently. Chimneys are bent legs bouncing
Women Or they should be should be pedestals little horses moving those wooden pedestals sweet
“Feel me to do right,” our father… We did not quite know—in fact, not… His last whisper was spent as thro… He left us a key, but how did it f… to do right.” Did it mean that, th…
Fruit without a stone, its shiny pulp is clear green. Inside, tiny black microdot seeds. Skin the color of khakiImagine a shaggy brown-green pelt
Monday The world is a ball of water. See, it is round-sided. I move across its topside, upon the world, not in it.
My dumpy little mother on the unde… had a mannequin’s grace. From chin… the sheet outlined her, thin and t… uptilted, bloodless, smooth, had a… Her head rested on a block under h…
Blue, but you are Rose, too, and buttermilk, but with blood dots showing through. A little salty your white nape boy-wide. Glinting hairs
We move by means of our mud bumps. We bubble as do the dead but more… The products of excruciating purge… we are squeezed out thin hard and… If we exude a stench it is petrifi…
My hands are murder-red. Many a p… drops on the heap in the basket. O… to bursting, they might be hearts,… the blackbird’s wing-fleck. Grippe… he shrieks his ko-ka-ree in the ne…