#AmericanWriters
Leaves are graygreen, the glass broken, bright green.
Paterson lies in the valley under… its spent waters forming the outli… lies on his right side, head near… of the waters filling his dreams!… his dreams walk about the city whe…
If a man can say of his life or any moment of his life, There is nothing more to be desired! his st… becomes like that told in the famo… double sonnet—but without the
I bought a dish mop— having no daughter— for they had twisted fine ribbons of shining copper about white twine
The living quality of the man’s mind stands out and its covert assertions for art, art, art!
The whole process is a lie, unless, crowned by excess, It break forcefully, one way or another,
Disciplined by the artist to go round and round in holiday gear a riotously gay rabble of
At ten AM the young housewife moves about in negligee behind the wooden walls of her husband’s… I pass solitary in my car. Then again she comes to the curb
One leaves his leaves at home beomg a mullen and sends up a ligh… to peer from: I will have my way, yellow—A mast with a lantern, ten fifty, a hundred, smaller and smal…
This is a slight stiff dance to a waking baby whose arms have been lying curled back above his head upon the pillow, making a flower—the eyes closed. Dead to the world! Waking is a...
Sorrow is my own yard where the new grass flames as it has flamed often before but not with the cold fire
Not because of his eyes, the eyes of a bird, but because he is beaked, birdlike, to do an injury, has the turtle attracted you.
Constantly near you, I never in m… sixty-four years knew you so well… or half so well. We talked. you we… so lucid, so disengaged from all e… of place and time. We talked of ou…
They call me and I go. It is a frozen road past midnight, a dust of snow caught in the rigid wheeltracks.
Among the rain and lights I saw the figure 5 in gold on a red