#AmericanWriters
Buffalo Bill 's defunct who used to ride a watersmooth—silver stallion
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…
suppose Life is an old man carrying flower… young death sits in a café smiling,a piece of money held betw… his thumb and first finger
the moon is hiding in her hair. The lily of heaven
III Spring is like a perhaps hand (which comes carefully out of Nowhere)arranging a window, into which people look(w…
the boys i mean are not refined they go with girls who buck and bi… they do not give a fuck for luck they hump them thirteen times a ni… one hangs a hat upon her tit
Thy fingers make early flowers of all things. thy hair mostly the hours love: a smoothness which sings,saying
swi( across! gold’s rouNdly )ftblac k1(ness)y
“next to of course god america i love you land of the pilgrims’ and… say can you see by the dawn’s earl… country 'tis of centuries come and… and are no more what of it we shou…
this out of within itself moo ving lump of twilight squirts a tw… ne like nothing verdi slightly knu as and some six cents hit the whig… shaped hathole thangew yelps one s…
in Just- spring when the world is mud… luscious the little lame baloonman whistles far and wee
the wind is a Lady with bright slender eyes(who moves)at sunset and who—touches—the hills without any reason
may i feel said he (i’ll squeal said she just once said he) it’s fun said she (may i touch said he
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
of this wilting wall the colour dr… souring sunbeams,of a foetal fragr… to rickety unclosed blinds inslant… peregrinate,a cigar-stub disintegrates,above,underdrawers c…