(1979)
#AmericanWriters
The still explosions on the rocks, the lichens, grow by spreading, gray, concentric sho… They have arranged to meet the rings around the moon,…
At six o’clock we were waiting for… waiting for coffee and the charita… that was going to be served from a… —like kings of old, or like a mira… It was still dark. One foot of th…
It was cold and windy, scarcely th… to take a walk on that long beach Everything was withdrawn as far as… indrawn: the tide far out, the oce… seabirds in ones or twos.
This celestial seascape, with whit… flying high as they want and as fa… in tiers and tiers of immaculate r… the whole region, from the highest… down to the weightless mangrove is…
My love, my saving grace, your eyes are awfully blue. I kiss your funny face, your coffee-flavored mouth. Last night I slept with you.
On the fair green hills of Rio There grows a fearful stain: The poor who come to Rio And can’t go home again. On the hills a million people,
We must admire her perfect aim, this huntress of the winter air whose level weapon needs no sight, if it were not that everywhere her game is sure, her shot is righ…
About the size of an old—style dol… American or Canadian, mostly the same whites, gray green… —this little painting (a sketch fo… has never earned any money in its…
The roaring alongside he takes for… and that every so often the world… He runs, he runs to the south, fin… in a state of controlled panic, a… The beach hisses like fat. On his…
Still dark. The unknown bird sits on his usual… The little dog next door barks in… inquiringly, just once. Perhaps in his sleep, too, the bir…
Beneath that loved and celebrated… silent, bored really blindly veine… grieves, maybe lives and lets live, passes bets, something moving but invisibly,
Alone on the railroad track I walked with pounding heart. The ties were too close together or maybe too far apart. The scenery was impoverished:
I am in need of music that would f… Over my fretful, feeling finger—ti… Over my bitter—tainted, trembling… With melody, deep, clear, and liqu… Oh, for the healing swaying, old a…
Land lies in water; it is shadowed… Shadows, or are they shallows, at… showing the line of long sea-weede… where weeds hang to the simple blu… Or does the land lean down to lift…
You won’t become a gourmet* cook By studying our Fannie’s book— Her thoughts on Food & Keeping H… Are scarcely those of Lévi—Straus… Nevertheless, you’ll find, Frank…