#AmericanWriters
Sooner or later we must come to the end of striving to re-establish the image the image of
The half-stripped trees struck by a wind together, bending all, the leaves flutter drily and refuse to let go
Among of green stiff old
The crowd at the ball game is moved uniformly by a spirit of uselessness which delights them— all the exciting detail
You sullen pig of a man you force me into the mud with your stinking ash-cart! Brother! —if we were rich
Again I reply to the triple winds running chromatic fifths of derisi… outside my window: Play louder. You will not succeed. I am
The brutal Lord of All will rip us from each other—leave the one to suffer here alone. No need belief in god or hell to postulate that much. The dance: hands touching, leaves touch...
It is cold. The white moon is up among her scattered stars— like the bare thighs of the Police Sergeant’s wife—among her five children . . .
When over the flowery, sharp pastu… edge, unseen, the salt ocean lifts its form—chicory and daisies tied, released, seem hardly flower… but color and the movement—or the…
I lie here thinking of you:—— the stain of love is upon the world! Yellow, yellow, yellow it eats into the leaves,
She sits with tears on her cheek her cheek on her hand
The rose is obsolete but each petal ends in an edge, the double facet cementing the grooved columns of air ——The edge
This particular thing, whether it be four pinches of four divers white powders cleverly compounded to cure surely, safely, pleasantly a painful twitching of the eyelids or say a pe...
beauty is a shell from the sea where she rules triumphant till love has had its way with her scallops and
I have had my dream—like others— and it has come to nothing, so tha… I remain now carelessly with feet planted on the ground and look up at the sky—