#AmericanWriters
All the complicated details of the attiring and the disattiring are completed! A liquid moon moves gently among
My wife’s new pink slippers have gay pompons. There is not a spot or a stain on their satin toes or their sides… All night they lie together
Among of green stiff old
I feel the caress of my own finger… on my own neck as I place my colla… and think pityingly of the kind women I have known.
A day on the boulevards chosen out… student poverty! One best day out… Berket in high spirits—"Ha, orang… And he made to snatch an orange fr… Now so clever was the deception, s…
The green-blue ground is ruled with silver lines to say the sun is shining And on this moral sea of grass or dreams lie flowers
Trundled from the strangeness of the sea —— a kind of heaven —— Ladies and Gentlemen!
You sullen pig of a man you force me into the mud with your stinking ash-cart! Brother! —if we were rich
Why do I write today? The beauty of the terrible faces of our nonentites stirs me to it:
Sorrow is my own yard where the new grass flames as it has flamed often before but not with the cold fire
When I am alone I am happy. The air is cool. The sky is flecked and splashed and wound with color. The crimson phalloi of the sassafras leaves
This horrible but superb painting the parable of the blind without a red in the composition shows a group of beggars leading
Each time it rings I think it is for me but it is not for me nor for anyone it merely
Warm sun, quiet air an old man sits in the doorway of a broken house— boards for windows
Of asphodel, that greeny flower, like a buttercup upon its branching stem– save that it’s green and wooden– I come, my sweet,