#AmericanWriters #FreeVerse
three wealthy sisters swore they’d… Soul was(i understand) seduced by Life;whose brother marr… now Mrs Death. Poor Mind
somewhere i have never travelled,… any experience,your eyes have thei… in your most frail gesture are thi… or which i cannot touch because th… your slightest look easily will un…
a salesman is an it that stinks Ex… Me whether it’s president of the y… or a jennelman name misder finger… important whether it’s millions of… or just a handful absolutely doesn…
the bed is not very big a sufficient pillow shoveling her small manure-shaped head one sheet on which distinctly wags at times the weary twig
somewhere i have never travelled,… any experience, your eyes have the… in your most frail gesture are thi… or which i cannot touch because th… your slightest look easily will un…
who knows if the moon’s a baloon,coming out of a keen city in the sky—filled with pretty peop… (and if you and i should get into it,if they
Thou in whose sword-great story sh… Of history her heroes, sounds the… Of those vast armies of the marchi… With standards and the neighing of… Moving to war across the smiling m…
O Thou to whom the musical white… offers her lily inextinguishable, taught by thy tremulous grace brav… Implacable death’s mysteriously sa… rob from her redolent shoulders,
if there are any heavens my mother… one. It will not be a pansy heaven… a fragile heaven of lilies-of-the-… it will be a heaven of blackred ro… my father will be(deep like a rose
i have loved,let us see if that’s… Bit into you as teeth,in the stone of a musical fruit. My lips pleas… on your taste. Jumped the quick w… of your smile into stupid gardens
Thy fingers make early flowers of all things. thy hair mostly the hours love: a smoothness which sings,saying
there is a moon sole in the blue night amorous of waters
you asked me to come:it was rainin… and the spring;a clumsy brightness… wonderfully stumbled above the squ… little amorous-tadpole people wigg… battered by stuttering pearl,
O sweet spontaneous earth how often have the doting fingers of
in Just- spring when the world is mud… luscious the little lame baloonman whistles far and wee