#AmericanWriters
I walked the unwalked garden of ro… In the public park; at home felt t… Of a single rose present to imagin… The garden’s remainder in full pai… The stone lion-head set in the wal…
From Water-Tower Hill to the bri… The shingle booms, bickering under The sea’s collapse. Snowcakes break and welter. This… The gritted wave leaps
In the rectory garden on his eveni… Paced brisk Father Shawn. A cold… In black Novemeber. After a slidi… Dew stood in chill sweat on each s… Each thorn; spiring from wet earth…
I’m through with this grand lookin… where adjectives play croquet with… methinks I shall absent me for a w… from rhetoric of these rococo quee… Item: chuck out royal rigmarole of…
You bring me good news from the cl… Whipping off your silk scarf, exhi… Mummy—cloths, smiling: I’m all ri… When I was nine, a lime—green ane… Fed me banana gas through a frog—m…
All morning in the strawberry fiel… They talked about the Russians. Squatted down between the rows We listened. We heard the head woman say,
First frost, and I walk among the… Of the Greek beauties you brought Off Europe’s relic heap To sweeten your neck of the New Y… Soon each white lady will be board…
On this bald hill the new year hon… Faceless and pale as china The round sky goes on minding its… Your absence is inconspicuous; Nobody can tell what I lack.
This man makes a pseudonym And crawls behind it like a worm. This woman on the telephone Says she is a man, not a woman. The mask increases, eats the worm,
On storm—struck deck, wind sirens… With each tilt, shock and shudder,… Cleaves forward into fury; dark as… Waves wallop, assaulting the stubb… Flayed by spray, we take the chall…
Old goatherds swear how all night… The warning whirr and burring of t… Who wakes with darkness and till d… Vampiring dry of milk each great g… Moon full, moon dark, the chary da…
They’re out of the dark’s ragbag,… Moles dead in the pebbled rut, Shapeless as flung gloves, a few f… Blue suede a dog or fox has chewed… One, by himself, seemed pitiable e…
What a thrill —— My thumb instead of an onion. The top quite gone Except for a sort of a hinge Of skin,
My night sweats grease his breakfa… The same placard of blue fog is wh… With the same trees and headstones… Is that all he can come up with, The rattler of keys?
The idiot bird leaps out and drunk… Atop the broken universal clock: The hour is crowed in lunatic thir… Out painted stages fall apart by s… While all the actors halt in morta…