#AmericanWriters
Hearing a white saint rave About a quintessential beauty Visible only to the paragon heart, I tried my sight on an apple-tree That for eccentric knob and wart
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…
Through fen and farmland walking With my own country love I saw slow flocked cows move White hulks on their day’s cruisin… Sweet grass sprang for their grazi…
“I shut my eyes and all the world… I lift my lids and all is born aga… (I think I made you up inside my… The stars go waltzing out in blue… And arbitrary blackness gallops in…
Arena dust rusted by four bulls’ b… The afternoon at a bad end under t… The ritual death each time botched… stabs, The strongest will seemed a will t…
This is winter, this is night, sma… A sort of black horsehair, A rough, dumb country stuff Steeled with the sheen Of what green stars can make it to…
I’ve got a stubborn goose whose gu… Honeycombed with golden eggs, Yet won’t lay one. She, addled in her goose-wit, stru… The barnyard like those taloned ha…
The courage of the shut mouth, in… The line pink and quiet, a worm, b… There are black disks behind it, t… And the outrage of a sky, the line… The disks revolve, they ask to be…
Take the general mumble, blunt as the faceless gut of an anonymous clam, vernacular as the strut of a slug or a small preamble
By the roots of my hair some god g… I sizzled in his blue volts like a… The nights snapped out of sight li… A world of bald white days in a sh… A vulturous boredom pinned me in t…
There is this white wall, above wh… Infinite, green, utterly untouchab… Angels swim in it, and the stars,… They are my medium. The sun dissolves on this wall, bl…
An old beast ended in this place: A monster of wood and rusty teeth. Fire smelted his eyes to lumps Of pale blue vitreous stuff, opaqu… As resin drops oozed from pine bar…
Summer grows old, cold—blooded mot… The insects are scant, skinny. In these palustral homes we only Croak and wither. Mornings dissipate in somnolence.
You will be aware of an absence, p… Growing beside you, like a tree, A death tree, color gone, an Aust… Balding, gelded by lightning—an il… And a sky like a pig’s backside, a…
Your brother will trim my hedges! They darken your house, Nosy grower, Mole on my shoulder, To be scratched absently,