#AmericanWriters
All right, let’s say you could tak… The way you’d crack a clock; you’d… Between steel palms of inclination… Observing the wreck of metal and r… This was a woman: her loves and st…
Black lake, black boat, two black,… Where do the black trees go that d… Their shadows must cover Canada. A little light is filtering from t… Their leaves do not wish us to hur…
I came before the water— Colorists came to get the Good of the Cape light that scour… Sand grit to sided crystal And buffs and sleeks the blunt hul…
deep in liquid turquoise slivers of dilute light quiver in thin streaks of bright tinfoil
By the gate with star and moon Worked into the peeled orange wood The bronze snake lay in the sun Inert as a shoelace; dead But pliable still, his jaw
Pure? What does it mean? The tongues of hell Are dull, dull as the triple Tongues of dull, fat Cerebus Who wheezes at the gate. Incapabl…
Open-mouthed, the baby god Immense, bald, though baby-headed, Cried out for the mother’s dug. The dry volcanoes cracked and spli… Sand abraded the milkless lip.
Meadows of gold dust. The silver Currents of the Connecticut fan And meander in bland pleatings und… River-verge farms where rye-heads… All’s polished to a dull luster
Color floods to the spot, dull pur… The rest of the body is all washed… The color of pearl. In a pit of rock The sea sucks obsessively,
Gerd sits spindle—shaped in her da… Lean face gone tawn with seasons, Skin worn down to the knucklebones At her tough trade; without time’s… The burnished ball hangs fire in h…
At this wharf there are no grand l… Red and orange barges list and bli… Shackled to the dock, outmoded, ga… And apparently indestructible. The sea pulses under a skin of oil…
We came over the moor—top Through air streaming and green—li… Stone farms foundering in it, Valleys of grass altering In a light neither dawn
Two virtues ride, by stallion, by… To grind our knives and scissors: Lantern-jawed Reason, squat Commo… One courting doctors of all sorts, One, housewives and shopkeepers.
With white frost gone And all green dreams not worth muc… After a lean day’s work Time comes round for that foul slu… Mere bruit of her takes our street
Two virtues ride, by stallion, by… To grind our knives and scissors: Lantern—jawed Reason, squat Commo… One courting doctors of all sorts, One, housewives and shopkeepers.