#AmericanWriters
At night Chinamen jump on Asia with a thump while in our willful way we, in secret, play affectionate games and bruise
After the first glass of vodka you can accept just about anything of life even your own mysteriousne… you think it is nice that a box of matches is purple and brown and…
The opals hiding your lids as you sleep, as you ride ponies mysteriously, spring to bloom like the blue flowers of autumn each nine o’clock. And curls
Is it dirty does it look dirty that’s what you think of in the ci… does it just seem dirty that’s what you think of in the ci…
When music is far enough away the eyelid does not often move and objects are still as lavender without breath or distant rejoinde… The cloud is then so subtly dragge…
It’s my lunch hour, so I go for a walk among the hum-colored cabs. First, down the sidewalk where laborers feed their dirty glistening torsos sandwiches
I am not a painter, I am a poet. Why? I think I would rather be a painter, but I am not. Well, for instance, Mike Goldberg is starting a painting. I drop in.
515 Madison Avenue door to heaven? portal stopped realities and eternal lice… or at least the jungle of impossib… your marble is bronze and your lia…
I know so much about things, I accept so much, it’s like vomiting. And I am nourished by the
You are so serious, as if a glacier spoke in your ear or you had to walk through the great gate of Kiev to get to the living room.
Have you forgotten what we were li… when we were still first rate and the day came fat with an apple… it’s no use worrying about Time but we did have a few tricks up ou…
Oh! kangaroos, sequins, chocolate… You really are beautiful! Pearls, harmonicas, jujubes, aspirins! all the stuff they’ve always talked ab… still makes a poem a surprise!
How funny you are today New York like Ginger Rogers in Swingtime and St. Bridget’s steeple leaning… here I have just jumped out of a b… (I got tired of D-days) and blue…
The eager note on my door said “C… call when you get in!" so I quickl… a few tangerines into my overnight… straightened my eyelids and should… headed straight for the door. It…
Alone at night in the wet city the country’s wit is not memorable. The wind has blown