#AmericanWriters #FreeVerse
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
She sits with tears on her cheek her cheek on her hand
"Sweet land" at last! out of sea— the Venusremembering wavelets rippling with laughter—
a trouble archaically fettered to produce E Pluribus Unum an island
Here it is spring again and I still a young man! I am late at my singing. The sparrow with the black rain on… has been at his cadenzas for two w…
A rumpled sheet Of brown paper About the length And apparent bulk Of a man was
Disciplined by the artist to go round and round in holiday gear a riotously gay rabble of
Subtle, clever brain, wiser than… by what devious means do you contr… to remain idle? Teach me, O maste…
munching a plum on the street a paper bag of them in her hand They taste good to her They taste good
Upon the table in their bowl in violent disarray of yellow sprays, green spikes of leaves, red pointed petals and curled heads of blue
The whole process is a lie, unless, crowned by excess, It break forcefully, one way or another,
contend in a sea which the land pa… shielding them from the too—heavy… of an ungoverned ocean which when… tortures the biggest hulls, the be… to pit against its beatings, and s…
You sullen pig of a man you force me into the mud with your stinking ash-cart! Brother! —if we were rich
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
Flowers through the window lavender and yellow changed by white curtains— Smell of cleanliness— Sunshine of late afternoon—