#AmericanWriters
Oh, but it is dirty! —this little filling station, oil—soaked, oil—permeated to a disturbing, over—all black translucency.
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,
Oh, why should a hen have been run over on West 4th Street in the middle of summer? She was a white hen
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…
I can make out the rigging of a sc… a mile off; I can count the new cones on the spruce. It is… the pale bay wears a milky skin; t… no clouds except for one long, car…
He sleeps on the top of a mast with his eyes fast closed. The sails fall away below him like the sheets of his bed, leaving out in the air of the nigh…
I am too big. Too big by far. Pit… My eyes bulge and hurt. They are… so. They see too much, above, belo… to see. The rain has stopped. The… in drops. The drops run down my ba…
The art of losing isn’t hard to ma… so many things seem filled with th… to be lost that their loss is no d… Lose something every day. Accept… of lost door keys, the hour badly…
Hidden, oh hidden in the high fog the house we live in, beneath the magnetic rock, rain—, rainbow—ridden,
Days that cannot bring you near or will not, Distance trying to appear something more obstinate, argue argue argue with me
Caught —the bubble in the spirit level, a creature divided; and the compass needle wobbling and wavering,
I am in need of music that would f… Over my fretful, feeling fingertip… Over my bitter—tainted, trembling… With melody, deep, clear, and liqu… Oh, for the healing swaying, old a…
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…
It is so peaceful on the ceiling! It is the Place de la Concorde. The little crystal chandelier is off, the fountain is in the dar… Not a soul is in the park.
Moving from left to left, the ligh… is heavy on the Dome, and coarse. One small lunette turns it aside and blankly stares off to the side like a big white old wall—eyed hor…