#AmericanWriters
Come, brother, come. Lets lift it… come now, hewit! roll away! Shackles fall upon the Judgment D… But lets not wait for it. God’s body’s got a soul,
Stretch sea Stretch away sea and land We are following thee Thy lead is dangerous And glorius
whisper of yellow globes gleaming on lamp-posts that sway like bootleg licker drinkers in th… and let your breath be moist again… like bright beads on yellow globes
Hair-braided chestnut, coiled like a lyncher’s rope, Eyes-fagots, Lips-old scars, or the first red b… Breath-the last sweet scent of can…
Full moon rising on the waters of… Lakes and moon and fires, Cloine tires, Holding her lips apart. Promises of slumber leaving shore…
Whizzing, whizzing down the street-car tracks. Seventh Street is a bastrad of Prohibition and the War. A crude-boned, soft-skinned wedge of nigger life breathing its loafer...
Black reapers with the sound of st… Are sharpening scythes. I see the… In their hip-pockets as a thing th… And start their silent swinging, o… Black horses drive a mower through…
The sky, lazily disdaining to purs… The setting sun, too indolent to h… A lengthened tournament for flashi… Passively darkens for night’s barb… A feast of moon and men and barkin…
I am a reaper whose muscles set at sundown. All my oats are cradled. But I am too chilled, and too fatigued to bind them. I crack a grain between my teeth. I do not taste it. I have bee...
Whoever it was who brought the fir… To start the Fire, did his part w… Not all wood takes to fire from a… Nor coal from wood before it’s bur… The wood and coal in question caug…
Boll-weevil’s coming, and the wint… Made cotton-stalks look rusty, sea… And cotton, scarce as any southern… Was vanishing; the branch, so pinc… Failed in its function as the autu…
Thunder blossoms gorgeously above… Great, hollow, bell-like flowers, Rumbling in the wind, Stretching clappers to strike our… Full-lipped flowers
Spatial depths of being survive The birth to death recurrences Of feet dancing on earth of sand; Vibrations of the dance survive The sand; the sand, elect, survive…
There is no transcience of twiligh… The beauty of your soft dusk-dimpl… No flicker of a slender flame in s… In crucibles, fragility crystallin… There is no fragrance of the jessa…
Hair—braided chestnut, coiled like a lyncher’s rope, Eyes—fagots, Lips—old scars, or the first red b… Breath—the last sweet scent of can…
