#AmericanWriters
SEVEN days all fog, all mist, an… I was a plaything, a rat’s neck in… Fog and fog and no stars, sun, moo… Then an afternoon in fjords, low-l… A night harbor, blue dusk mountain…
OUT of white lips a question: Sh… Out of white lips:—Shall they hav… Out of white lips:—Is the red in… Out of white lips a white pain mur…
This flower is repeated out of old winds, out of old times. The wind repeats these, it must have these, over and
NEW-MOWN hay smell and wind of… a woman whose ribs had the power o… them and her hands were tough for… was passion for life in her womb. She and her man crossed the ocean…
I AM a hoodlum, you are a hoodlum… I hate and kill better men than I… In the ends of my fingers the itch… This is the hate my father gave me… Let us go on, brother hoodlums, le…
LET down your braids of hair, lad… Cross your legs and sit before the… And gaze long on lines under your… Life writes; men dance. And you know how men pay women.
WALKED among the streets of an old city and the streets were lean as the throats of hard seafish soaked in salt and kept in barrels many years. How old, how old, how old, we are:—the...
WHAT do we see here in the sand… moon alone with our thoughts, Bill… Alone with our dreams, Bill, soft… scarves around their heads dancing… Alone with a picture and a picture…
Now the stone house on the lake fr… workmen are beginning the fence. The palings are made of iron bars… can stab the life out of any man w… As a fence, it is a masterpiece, a…
The haggard woman with a hacking cough and a deathless love whispers of white flowers... in your poem you pour like a cup of coffee, Gabriel. The slim girl whose voice was lost in the w...
I WAITED today for a freight tr… Cattle cars with steers butting th… bars, went by. And a half a dozen hoboes stood on… cars.
The long beautiful night of the wi… The long night hanging down from t… Swinging, swaying, to the wind for… What is the humming, swishing thin… The rain, the wind, the swishing w…
There is a blue star, Janet, Fifteen years’ ride from us, If we ride a hundred miles an hour… There is a white star, Janet, Forty years’ ride from us,
(For Paula)THE GRIP of the ice… The silvers chase purple. The purples tag silver. They let out their runners Here where summer says to the lili…
LITTLE one, you have been buzzi… Flittering in the newspapers and d… lawyers And amid the educated men of the c… getting an earful of speech from t…