#AmericanWriters
The night still frightens you. You know it is interminable And of vast, unimaginable dimensio… “That’s because His insomnia is p… You’ve read some mystic say.
Enter without knocking, hard-worki… I’m just sitting here mulling over What to do this dark, overcast day… It was a night of the radio turned… Fitful sleep, vague, troubling dre…
They arrive inside They object at evening. There’s no one to meet them. The lamps they carry Cast their shadows
The mail truck goes down the coast Carrying a single letter. At the end of a long pier The bored seagull lifts a leg now… And forgets to put it down.
St. John of the Cross wore dark g… As he passed me on the street. St. Theresa of Avila, beautiful a… Turned her back on me. “Soulmate,” they hissed. “It’s hi…
The obvious is difficult To prove. Many prefer The hidden. I did, too. I listened to the trees. They had a secret
Seems like a long time Since the waiter took my order. Grimy little luncheonette, The snow falling outside. Seems like it has grown darker
Fingers in an overcoat pocket. Fingers sticking out of a black leather glove. The nails chewed raw. One play is called “Thieves’ Market,” another “Night in a Dime Museum.” The fingers w...
Executioner happy to explain How his wristwatch works As he shadows me on the street. I call him that because he is grim… And wears black.
We don’t even take time To come up for air. We keep our mouths full and busy Eating bread and cheese And smooching in between.
On the road with billowing poplars… In a country flat and desolate To the far-off gray horizon, where… A man and a woman went on foot, Each carrying a small suitcase.
Your mother carried you Out of the smoking ruins of a buil… And set you down on this sidewalk Like a doll bundled in burnt rags, Where you now stood years later
As an ant is powerless Against a raised boot, And only has an instant To have a bright idea or two. The black boot so polished,
Green Buddhas On the fruit stand. We eat the smile And spit out the teeth.
You give the appearance of listeni… To my thoughts, o trees, Bent over the road I am walking On a late summer evening When every one of you is a steep s…