#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
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
so much depends upon a red wheel barrow glazed with rain
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
Why do I write today? The beauty of the terrible faces of our nonentites stirs me to it:
In the flashes and black shadows of July the days, locked in each other’s a… seem still so that squirrels and colored bird…
It’s a strange courage you give me ancient star: Shine alone in the sunrise toward which you lend no part!
Among the rain and lights I saw the figure 5 in gold on a red
Light hearted William twirled his November moustaches and, half dressed, looked from the bedroom window upon the spring weather.
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...
The May sun—whom all things imitate— that glues small leaves to the wooden trees shone from the sky
Gagarin says, in ecstasy, he could have gone on forever he floated at and sang
I lie here thinking of you:—— the stain of love is upon the world! Yellow, yellow, yellow it eats into the leaves,
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.
beauty is a shell from the sea where she rules triumphant till love has had its way with her scallops and