#AmericanWriters
And the one that’s got it in for y… Mister, that keeps taunting you In an old man’s morning wheeze Every time you so much as glance a… Or blurt something in your defense…
On the first page of my dreambook It’s always evening In an occupied country. Hour before the curfew. A small provincial city.
for Hayden Carruth If you didn’t see the six-legged d… It doesn’t matter. We did, and he mostly lay in the c… As for the extra legs,
The obvious is difficult To prove. Many prefer The hidden. I did, too. I listened to the trees. They had a secret
A world’s disappearing. Little street, You were too narrow, Too much in the shade already. You had only one dog,
You must come to them sideways In rooms webbed in shadow, Sneak a view of their emptiness Without them catching A glimpse of you in return.
The one who had been whispering All along in this empty theater And whose voice I just heard— Or imagined I did Distracted as I was by my own tho…
Fingers in an overcoat pocket. Fingers sticking out of a black leather glove. The nails chewed raw. One play is called “Thieves’ Market,” another “Night in a Dime Museum.” The fingers w...
This last continent Still to be discovered. My hand is dreaming, is building Its ship. For crew it takes A pack of bones, for food
A New Version: 1980 What is that little black thing I… in the white? Walt Whitman One
Enter without knocking, hard-worki… I’m just sitting here mulling over What to do this dark, overcast day… It was a night of the radio turned… Fitful sleep, vague, troubling dre…
We don’t even take time To come up for air. We keep our mouths full and busy Eating bread and cheese And smooching in between.
I liked my little hole, Its window facing a brick wall. Next door there was a piano. A few evenings a month a crippled old man came to play
On the road with billowing poplars… In a country flat and desolate To the far-off gray horizon, where… A man and a woman went on foot, Each carrying a small suitcase.
How much death works, No one knows what a long Day he puts in. The little Wife always alone Ironing death’s laundry.