#AmericanWriters
They are always with us, the thin… Meager of dimension as the gray pe… On a movie—screen. They Are unreal, we say: It was only in a movie, it was onl…
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…
Sky and sea, horizon-hinged Tablets of blank blue, couldn’t, Clapped shut, flatten this man out… The great gods, Stone-Head, Claw… Winded by much rock-bumping
Spry, wry, and gray as these Marc… Percy bows, in his blue peajacket,… He is recuperating from something… The narcissi, too, are bowing to s… It rattles their stars on the gree…
Up here among the gull cries we stroll through a maze of pale red-mottled relics, shells, claws as if it were summer still. That season has turned its back.
Blameless as daylight I stood loo… At a field of horses, necks bent,… Tails streaming against the green Backdrop of sycamores. Sun was st… White chapel pinnacles over the ro…
Thou shalt have an everlasting Monday and stand in the moon. The moon’s man stands in his shell… Bent under a bundle Of sticks. The light falls chalk…
Through portico of my elegant hous… With your wild furies, disturbing… And the fabulous lutes and peacock… Of all decorum which holds the whi… Now, rich order of walls is fallen…
Flintlike, her feet struck Such a racket of echoes from the s… Tacking in moon-blued crooks from… Stone-built town, that she heard t… Its tinder and shake
In the Archæological Museum in C… coffin of the fourth century A.D.… of a woman, a mouse and a shrew. T… woman has been slightly gnawed. Rigged poker —stiff on her back
No novice In those elaborate rituals Which allay the malice Of knotted table and crooked chair… The new woman in the ward
(I) This is the sea, then, this great… How the sun’s poultice draws on my… Electrifyingly—colored sherbets, s… By pale girls, travel the air in s…
What a thrill —— My thumb instead of an onion. The top quite gone Except for a sort of a hinge Of skin,
The day you died I went into the… Into the lightless hibernaculum Where bees, striped black and gold… Like hieratic stones, and the grou… It was good for twenty years, that…
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