#AmericanWriters
Monday The world is a ball of water. See, it is round-sided. I move across its topside, upon the world, not in it.
Body my house my horse my hound what will I do when you are fallen Where will I sleep
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…
A smudge for the horizon that, on a clear day, shows the hard edge of hills and buildings on the other coast. Anchored boats all head one way:
Beards of water some of them have. Others are blowing whistles of wat… Faces astonished that constant wat… jumps from their mouths.
In the pond in the park all things are doubled: Long buildings hang and wriggle gently. Chimneys are bent legs bouncing
A mouth. Can blow or breathe, be a funnel, or Hello. A grass blade or a cut. A question seated. And a proud bird’s neck.
The binocular owl, fastened to a limb like a lantern all night long, sees where all
It’s about… the ball,… the bat,… and the mitt. th… Ball hits…
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…
Little lion face I stopped to pick among the mass of thick succulent blooms, the twice streaked flanges of your silk
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…
When in the mask of night there sh… we were riddled. A probe reached d… and stroked some nerve in us, as if the glint from a wizard’s ey… slanted out of the mask of the unk…
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…
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…