#AmericanWriters
Men with picked voices chant the n… of cities in a huge gallery: promi… that pull through descending stair… to a deep rumbling. The rubbing feet
The crowd at the ball game is moved uniformly by a spirit of uselessness which delights them— all the exciting detail
By the road to the contagious hosp… under the surge of the blue mottled clouds driven from the northeast—a cold wind. Beyond, the waste of broad, muddy fields
The murderer’s little daughter who is barely ten years old jerks her shoulders right and left so as to catch a glimpse of me
From the Nativity which I have already celebrated the Babe in its Mother’s arms the Wise Men in their stolen splendor
A three-day-long rain from the eas… an terminable talking, talking of no consequence—patter, patter,… Hand in hand little winds blow the thin streams aslant.
This plot of ground facing the waters of this inlet is dedicated to the living presenc… Emily Dickinson Wellcome who was born in England; married;
The coroner’s merry little childre… Have such twinkling brown eyes. Their father is not of gay men And their mother jocular in no wis… Yet the coroner’s merry little chi…
Light hearted William twirled his November moustaches and, half dressed, looked from the bedroom window upon the spring weather.
Vast and grey, the sky is a simulacrum to all but him whose days are vast and grey and— In the tall, dried grasses
You know there is not much that I desire, a few chrysanthemum… half lying on the grass, yellow and brown and white, the talk of a few people, the trees,
Of asphodel, that greeny flower, like a buttercup upon its branching stem– save that it’s green and wooden– I come, my sweet,
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—
The rose is obsolete but each petal ends in an edge, the double facet cementing the grooved columns of air—The edge
It is still warm enough to slip from the weeds into the lake’s edge, your clothes blushing in the grass and three small boys grinning behind the derelict hearth’s side. But summer...