#IrishWriters
The soldiers lie upon the snow, That no longer gyrates under the s… Night juggles in her fat black han… They will not babble any more secr… nights
Light! Innumerable ions of light, Kindling, irradiating, All to their foci tending… Light that jingles like anklet cha…
Radiant notes piercing my narrow-chested room, beating down through my ceiling’ smeared with unshapen belly-prints of dreams drifted out of old smokes’ trillions of icily peltering ...
Skyscrapers’¦ remote, unpartisan’… Turning neither to the right nor l… Your imperturbable fronts’¦. Austerely greeting the sun With one chilly finger of stone’¦…
Bountiful Givers, I look along the years And see the flowers you threw’¦ Anemones And sprigs of gray
You can see the sandhills from our… Butterflies live in the sandhills and lizards and centipedes.
Can you see me, Sasha? I can see you.... A tentacle of the vast dawn is res… that floats as though detached in a sultry and greenish vapor.
Last night I watched a star fall like a great… Till my ego expanding encompassed… Containing both as in a trembling…
The foreman's head slowly circling... White rims under yellow disks of eyes.... Gold hairs
I am of the wind... A wisp of the battering wind... I trail my fingers along the Alps And an avalanche falls in my wake.… I feel in my quivering length
I have a dream to fill the golden sheath of a remembered day.... (Air heavy and massed and blue
Where to-day would a dainty buyer Imbibe your scented juice, Pale ruin with a heart of fire; Drain your succulence with her lip… Grown sapless from much use…
Undulant rustlings, Of oncoming silk, Rhythmic, incessant, Like the motion of leaves… Fragments of color
The ore in the crucible is pungent… It is dusky red, like the ebb of p… And purple, like the blood of elde… Surely it is a strong wine - juice… I am drunk of its fumes.
A spring wind on the Bowery, Blowing the fluff of night shelter… Off bedraggled garments, And agitating the gutters, that ej… Like lewd growths.