#AmericanWriters
The tall camels of the spirit Steer for their deserts, passing t… With the sawmill shrill of the loc… arid Sun. They are slow, proud,
A thrush, because I’d been wrong, Burst rightly into song In a world not vague, not lonely, Not governed by me only.
One wading a Fall meadow finds on… The Queen Anne’s Lace lying like… On water; it glides So from the walker, it turns Dry grass to a lake, as the slight…
Piecemeal the summer dies; At the field’s edge a daisy lives… A last shawl of burning lies On a gray field-stone. All cries are thin and terse;
Right down the shocked street with… siren-blast That sends all else skittering to… curb, Redness, brass, ladders and hats h…
Dream fluently, still brothers, wh… Took with your mother’s milk the m… In which pure matrix, joining worl… You strove to leave some line of v… Like still fresh tracks across a f…
That flower unseen, that gem of pu… Bright thoughts uncut by men: Strange that you need but speak th… And the mind skips and dives beyon… Finding at once the wild supposed…
Rabbi, we Gadarenes Are not ascetics; we are fond of w… Love, as You call it, we obviate… Of the planned release of aggressi… We have deep faith in properity.
It’s not the case, though some mig… Who from a window watch the blizza… White riot through their branches… That they keep snug beneath their… They take affliction in until it j…
Sidling upon the river, the white… Has volleyed with its cannon all t… Shaken the shore towns like a Jud… Telling the palsied water its dema… That the crime come to the top aga…
It is a cramped little state with… Save to be thought inoffensive. T… Has never been fathomed, owing to… Of allowing each sentence to trail… Those who have visited Scusi, the…
Securely sunning in a forest glade… A mild, well-meaning snake Approved the adaptations he had ma… For safety’s sake. He liked the skin he had—
I read how Quixote in his random… Came to a crossing once, and lest… The purity of chance, would not de… Whither to fare, but wished his ho… For glory lay wherever turned the…
Seeing the snowman standing all al… In dusk and cold is more than he c… The small boy weeps to hear the wi… A night of gnashings and enormous… His tearful sight can hardly reach…
for Rene Magritte The carpenter’s made a hole In the parlor floor, and I’m stan… Staring down into it now At four o’clock in the evening,