#Americans
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…
Boss of all bosses of the universe… Mr. know-it-all, wheeler-dealer, w… And whatever else you’re good at. Go ahead, shuffle your zeros tonig… Dip in ink the comets’ tails.
Father studied theology through th… And this was exam time. Mother knitted. I sat quietly wit… Full of pictures. Night fell. My hands grew cold touching the fa…
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.
Of the light in my room: Its mood swings, Dark-morning glooms, Summer ecstasies. Spider on the wall,
Every morning I forget how it is. I watch the smoke mount In great strides above the city. I belong to no one. Then, I remember my shoes,
The obvious is difficult To prove. Many prefer The hidden. I did, too. I listened to the trees. They had a secret
A New Version: 1980 What is that little black thing I… in the white? Walt Whitman One
Executioner happy to explain How his wristwatch works As he shadows me on the street. I call him that because he is grim… And wears black.
It seemed the kind of life we want… Wild strawberries and cream in the… Sunlight in every room. The two of us walking by the sea n… Some evenings, however, we found o…
Millions were dead; everybody was… I stayed in my room. The Presiden… Spoke of war as of a magic love po… My eyes were opened in astonishmen… In a mirror my face appeared to me
St. John of the Cross wore dark g… As he passed me on the street. St. Theresa of Avila, beautiful a… Turned her back on me. “Soulmate,” they hissed. “It’s hi…
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
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...
Your mother carried you Out of the smoking ruins of a buil… And set you down on this sidewalk Like a doll bundled in burnt rags, Where you now stood years later