#AmericanWriters
A middle-northern March, now as a… gusts from the South broken agains… but from under, as if a slow hand… it moves—not into April—into a sec… the old skin of wind-clear scales…
Ecstatic bird songs pound the hollow vastness of the sky with metallic clinkings— beating color up into it at a far edge,—beating it, beating…
Light hearted William twirled his November moustaches and, half dressed, looked from the bedroom window upon the spring weather.
The rose is obsolete but each petal ends in an edge, the double facet cementing the grooved columns of air—The edge
Not because of his eyes, the eyes of a bird, but because he is beaked, birdlike, to do an injury, has the turtle attracted you.
a burst of iris so that come down for breakfast we searched through the rooms for
From the Nativity which I have already celebrated the Babe in its Mother’s arms the Wise Men in their stolen splendor
Tho’ I’m no Catholic I listen hard when the bells in the yellow—brick tower of their new church ring down the leaves
The crowd at the ball game is moved uniformly by a spirit of uselessness which delights them— all the exciting detail
Love is twain, it is not single, Gold and silver mixed to one, Passion 'tis and pain which ming… Glist’ring then for aye undone. Pain it is not; wondering pity
Paterson lies in the valley under… its spent waters forming the outli… lies on his right side, head near… of the waters filling his dreams!… his dreams walk about the city whe…
Subtle, clever brain, wiser than… by what devious means do you contr… to remain idle? Teach me, O maste…
The rose is obsolete but each petal ends in an edge, the double facet cementing the grooved columns of air ——The edge
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...
Trundled from the strangeness of the sea —— a kind of heaven —— Ladies and Gentlemen!