#AmericanWriters
Another armored animal—scale lapping scale with spruce—cone reg… form the uninterrupted central tail—row! This near artichoke with… gizzard,
This institution, perhaps one should say enterprise out of respect for which one says one need not change one’s… about a thing one has believed in,
Fragments of sin are a part of me. New brooms shall sweep clean the h… Shall they? Shall they? When this light life shall have pa… God shall redeem me, a castaway.
of ice. Deceptively reserved and f… it lies “in grandeur and in mass” beneath a sea of shifting snow—dun… dots of cyclamen—red and maroon on… pseudo—podia
My father used to say, “Superior people never make long v… have to be shown Longfellow’s grav… or the glass flowers at Harvard. Self-reliant like the cat—
Strong and slippery, built for the midnight grass-party confronted by four cats, he sleeps… the detached first claw on the for… to the thumb, retracted to its tip…
The pin-swin or spine-swine (the edgehog miscalled hedgehog) w… echidna and echinoderm in distress… pin-cushion thorn-fur coats, the s… the rhino with horned snout–
Those various sounds, consistently indis… struck from thin glasses successiv… the inflection disguised: your hai… fighting—cocks head to head in sto…
Not a mere blowing flame— A clinking ash, I feel—with shame… At malendeavor in your service. But as Jehoshaphat said on that o… Old Testament history,
The illustration is nothing to you without the appl… You lack half wit. You crush all… into close conformity, and then wa… on them.
“No water so still as the dead fountains of Versailles.” No… with swart blind look askance and gondoliering legs, so fine as the chinz china one with fawn—
Openly, yes, With the naturalness Of the hippopotamus or the alligat… When it climbs out on the bank to… Sun, I do these
Dürer would have seen a reason for… in a town like this, with eight st… to look at; with the sweet sea air… on a fine day, from water etched with waves as formal as the scales
Fanaticism? No. Writing is exci… and baseball is like writing. You can never tell with either how it will go or what you will do;
What is our innocence, what is our guilt? All are naked, none is safe. And whence is courage: the unanswered questio… the resolute doubt,—