#AmericanWriters
the glory is fallen out of the sky the last immortal leaf is dead and the gold
cruelly,love walk the autumn long; the last flower in whose hair, they lips are cold with songs for which is
“kitty”. sixteen,5′ 11″,white,pros… ducking always the touch of must a… whose slippery body is Death’s lit… skilled in quick softness. Unspon… the signal perfume of whose unrepu…
this is the garden:colours come an… frail azures fluttering from night… strong silent greens silently ling… absolute lights like baths of gold… This is the garden:pursed lips do…
Buffalo Bill ’s defunct who used to ride a watersmooth-silve… …
Tumbling-hair picker of buttercups … dandelions And the big bullying daisies
but the other day i was passing a certain gate, rain fell(as it will in spring)
the bigness of cannon is skilful, but i have seen death’s clever enormous voice which hides in a fragility
listen beloved i dreamed it appeared that you thought to escape me and became a great
O sweet spontaneous earth how often have the doting fingers of
O It’s Nice To Get Up In,the sl… of her riant belly’s fooling bore —When The Sun Begins To(with a p… of hot subliminal lips,as if a sco… of youngest angels suddenly should…
when faces called flowers float ou… and breathing is wishing and wishi… but keeping is downward and doubti… —it’s april(yes, april;my darling)… yes the pretty birds frolic as spr…
perhaps it is to feel strike the silver fish of her nakedness with fins sharply pleasant,my youth has travelled toward her the… or to snare the timid like
little ladies than dead exactly dance in my head,precisely dance where danced la guerre. Mimi à
Thy fingers make early flowers of all things. thy hair mostly the hours love: a smoothness which sings,saying