#AmericanWriters
Why do I write today? The beauty of the terrible faces of our nonentites stirs me to it:
I lie here thinking of you:—— the stain of love is upon the world! Yellow, yellow, yellow it eats into the leaves,
My shoes as I lean unlacing them stand out upon flat worsted flowers under my feet.
In this world of as fine a pair of breasts as ever I saw the fountain in Madison Square
My townspeople, beyond in the grea… are many with whom it were far mor… profitable for me to live than her… These whirr about me calling, call… and for my own part I answer them,…
Warm sun, quiet air an old man sits in the doorway of a broken house— boards for windows
This horrible but superb painting the parable of the blind without a red in the composition shows a group of beggars leading
Subtle, clever brain, wiser than… by what devious means do you contr… to remain idle? Teach me, O maste…
Trundled from the strangeness of the sea —— a kind of heaven —— Ladies and Gentlemen!
An old willow with hollow branches slowly swayed his few high gright… and sang: Love is a young green willow shimmering at the bare wood’s edge…
They tell me on the morrow I must… This winter eyrie for a southern f… And truth to tell I tremble with… At thought of such unheralded repr… E’er have I known December in a w…
It is a satisfaction a joy to have one of those in the house. when she takes a bath
Beloved you are Caviar of Caviar Of all I love you best O my Japanese bird nest No herring from Norway
Among of green stiff old
Her body is not so white as anemone petals nor so smooth—nor so remote a thing. It is a field of the wild carrot taking thefield by force; the grass