#AmericanWriters
Many ways to say good night. Fireworks at a pier on the Fourth… spell it with red wheels and yello… They fizz in the air, touch the wa… Rockets make a trajectory of gold-…
FLAT lands on the end of town where real estate men are crying new subdivisions, The sunsets pour blood and fire over you hundreds and hundreds of nights, flat lands—blood and fire of...
Into the blue river hills The red sun runners go And the long sand changes And to-day is a goner And to-day is not worth haggling o…
COUNT these reminiscences like m… The Greeks had their picnics unde… The Romans wore glad rags and tol… The Carlovingians hauling logs on… Stuck their noses in the air and s…
THE SUMMER shirt sale of a downtown haberdasher is glorified in a show-window slang: everybody understands the language: red dots, yellow circles, blue anchors, and dove-brown hooks, th...
What is the name you called me?— And why did you go so soon? The crows lift their caws on the w… And the wind changed and was lonel… The warblers cry thier sleepy-song…
CROSS the hands over the breast… Straighten the legs a little more—… And call for the wagon to come and… Her mother will cry some and so wi… brothers.
ARMOUR AVENUE was the name o… Scrap iron, rags and bottles fill… The segregated district, the Tend…
Have I broken the smaller taberna… And in the destruction of these se… I know nothing today, what I have… They were beautiful in a way, thes… They were beautiful—why did the hy…
I TOO have a garret of old playt… I have tin soldiers with broken ar… I have a wagon and the wheels gone… I have guns and a drum, a jumping-… And dust is on them and I never l…
GOLD of a ripe oat straw, gold o… Canada thistle blue and flimmering… Tomatoes shining in the October s… Shining five and six in a row on a… Why do you keep wishes on your fac…
YOUR bony head, Jazbo, O dock w… Those grappling hooks, those wheel… The dome and the wings of you, ***… The red roof and the door of you, I know where your songs came from.
And so to-day—they lay him away— the boy nobody knows the name of– the buck private—the unknown soldi… the doughboy who dug under and die… when they told him to– that’s him.
THE SHEETS of night mist trave… I know why you came at sundown in… What was it we touched asking noth… How many times can death come and… In the oath of the sod, the lips t…
THIS handful of grass, brown, says little. This quarter mile field of it, waving seeds ripening in the sun, is a lake of luminous firefly lavender. Prairie roses, two of them, climb dow...