#AmericanWriters
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...
Tracks of rain and light linger in the spongy greens of a nature whos… flickering mountain—bulging nearer… ebbing back into the sun hollowing itself away to hold a la…
Among of green stiff old
Why pretend to remember the weather two years back? Why not? Listen close then repeat after others what they have just said and win a reputation for vivacity. Oh feed upon petals o...
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…
"Sweet land" at last! out of sea— the Venusremembering wavelets rippling with laughter—
It is a willow when summer is over… a willow by the river from which no leaf has fallen nor bitten by the sun turned orange or crimson.
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…
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 . . .
a burst of iris so that come down for breakfast we searched through the rooms for
Sorrow is my own yard where the new grass flames as it has flamed often before but not with the cold fire
She sits with tears on her cheek her cheek on her hand
The crowd at the ball game is moved uniformly by a spirit of uselessness which delights them— all the exciting detail
The over-all picture is winter icy mountains in the background the return from the hunt it is toward evening from the left
You sullen pig of a man you force me into the mud with your stinking ash-cart! Brother! —if we were rich