#AmericanWriters
As the cat climbed over the top of the jamcloset first the right
Upon the table in their bowl in violent disarray of yellow sprays, green spikes of leaves, red pointed petals and curled heads of blue
At ten AM the young housewife moves about in negligee behind the wooden walls of her husband’s… I pass solitary in my car. Then again she comes to the curb
Winter is long in this climate and spring—a matter of a few days only,—a flower or two picked from mud or from among wet leaves or at best against treacherous
They tell me on the morrow I must… This winter eyrie for a southern f… And truth to tell I tremble with… At thought of such unheralded repr… E’er have I known December in a w…
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.
Again I reply to the triple winds running chromatic fifths of derisi… outside my window: Play louder. You will not succeed. I am
the back wings of the hospital where nothing will grow lie
The over-all picture is winter icy mountains in the background the return from the hunt it is toward evening from the left
And yet one arrives somehow, finds himself loosening the hooks… her dress in a strange bedroom— feels the autumn
It is a small plant delicately branched and tapering conically to a point, each branch and the peak a wire for
I will teach you my towns… how to perform a funeral… for you have it over a tr… of artists— unless one should scour t…
This is a slight stiff dance to a waking baby whose arms have been lying curled back above his head upon the pillow, making a flower—the eyes closed. Dead to the world! Waking is a...
Oh strong—ridged and deeply hollow… nose of mine! what will you not be… What tactless asses we are, you an… always indiscriminate, always unas… and now it is the souring flowers…
It was an icy day. We buried the cat, then took her box and set fire to it in the back yard.