#AmericanWriters
You say love is this, love is that… Poplar tassels, willow tendrils the wind and the rain comb, tinkle and drip, tinkle and drip— branches drifting apart. Hagh!
Gagarin says, in ecstasy, he could have gone on forever he floated at and sang
The rose is obsolete but each petal ends in an edge, the double facet cementing the grooved columns of air ——The edge
Light hearted William twirled his November moustaches and, half dressed, looked from the bedroom window upon the spring weather.
I’ve fond anticipation of a day O’erfilled with pure diversion pre… For I must read a lady poesy The while we glide by many a leafy… Hid deep in rushes, where at rando…
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.
This horrible but superb painting the parable of the blind without a red in the composition shows a group of beggars leading
My townspeople, beyond in the grea… are many with whom it were far mor… profitable for me to live than her… These whirr about me calling, call… and for my own part I answer them,…
By constantly tormenting them with reminders of the lice in their children’s hair, the School Physician first brought their hatred down on him.
munching a plum on the street a paper bag of them in her hand They taste good to her They taste good
She sits with tears on her cheek her cheek on her hand
unless there is a new mind there cannot be a new line
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
It is a small plant delicately branched and tapering conically to a point, each branch and the peak a wire for
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...