#AmericanWriters
A smudge for the horizon that, on a clear day, shows the hard edge of hills and buildings on the other coast. Anchored boats all head one way:
Feel like A Bird understand he has no hand instead A Wing close-lapped
It’s about… the ball,… the bat,… and the mitt. th… Ball hits…
What does love look like? We know the shape of death. Death is a clo… immense and awesome. At first a li… is lifted from the eye of light: there is a clap of sound, a white…
“Feel me to do right,” our father… We did not quite know—in fact, not… His last whisper was spent as thro… He left us a key, but how did it f… to do right.” Did it mean that, th…
A mouth. Can blow or breathe, be a funnel, or Hello. A grass blade or a cut. A question seated. And a proud bird’s neck.
Blue, but you are Rose, too, and buttermilk, but with blood dots showing through. A little salty your white nape boy-wide. Glinting hairs
Little lion face I stopped to pick among the mass of thick succulent blooms, the twice streaked flanges of your silk
The binocular owl, fastened to a limb like a lantern all night long, sees where all
I like being in your apartment, an… As in the woods I wouldn’t want t… or change the play of sun and shad… The yellow kitchen stool belongs r… against white plaster. I haven’t u…
We move by means of our mud bumps. We bubble as do the dead but more… The products of excruciating purge… we are squeezed out thin hard and… If we exude a stench it is petrifi…
I show her how to put her arms aro… but she’s much too small. What’s worse, she doesn’t understa… And although she lies beside me, stick…
Women Or they should be should be pedestals little horses moving those wooden pedestals sweet
In the pond in the park all things are doubled: Long buildings hang and wriggle gently. Chimneys are bent legs bouncing
Fruit without a stone, its shiny pulp is clear green. Inside, tiny black microdot seeds. Skin the color of khakiImagine a shaggy brown-green pelt