#AmericanWriters
STYLE—go ahead talking about sty… You can tell where a man gets his… as you can tell where Pavlowa got… or Ty Cobb his batting eye. Go on talking.
THE bronze General Grant riding… Park Shrivels in the sun by day when th… by in long processions going somew… for dinner and matinees and buying…
STROLLING along By the teeming docks, I watch the ships put out. Black ships that heave and lunge And move like mastodons
BODY of Jesus taken down from th… Carved in ivory by a lover of Chr… It is a child’s handful you are he… The breadth of a man’s finger, And this ivory loin cloth
YOUR whitelight flashes the fros… Moon of the purple and silent west… Remember me one of your lovers of…
AFTER you have spent all the money modistes and manicures and mannikins will take for fixing you over into a thing the people on the streets call proud and beautiful, After the shops an...
DOWN between the walls of shadow Where the iron laws insist, The hunger voices mock. The worn wayfaring men With the hunched and humble should…
Let the crows go by hawking their… They have been swimming in midnigh… Let 'em hawk their caw and caw. Let the woodpecker drum and drum o… He has been swimming in red and bl…
YOUR western heads here cast on… You are the two that fade away tog… Partners in the mist. Lunging buffalo shoulder, Lean Indian face,
RINGS of iron gray smoke; a woman’s steel face '¦ looking '¦ looking. Funnels of an ocean liner negotiating a fog night; pouring a taffy mass down the wind; layers of soot on the to...
There will be a rusty gun on the w… The rifle grooves curling with fla… A spider will make a silver string… darkest, warmest corner of it. The trigger and the range-finder,…
Thousands of sheep, soft-footed, b… one by one going up the hill and o… one four-footed pattering up and o… their stub tails as they take the… over—one by one silently unless fo…
FIRST I would like to write for you a poem to be shouted in the teeth of a strong wind. Next I would like to write one for you to sit on a hill and read down the river valley on a late ...
HERE in a cage the dollars come… To the click of a tube the dollars… And out of a mouth the dollars run… I finger the dollars, Paper and silver,
I WANDER down on Clinton stree… And listen to the voices of Itali… It is a cataract of coloratura And I could sleep to their musica…