#AmericanWriters
This harpie with dry red curls talked openly of her husband, his impotence, his death, the deat… of her lover, the birth and death of her own beauty. She stared
People sit numbly at the counter waiting for breakfast or service. Today it’s Hartford, Connecticut more than twenty-five years after the last death of Wallace Stevens…
Words go on travelling from voice to voice while the phones are stil… and the wires hum in the cold. Now and then dark winter birds settle slowly on the crossbars, where hud…
The gates are chained, the barbed-… An iron authority against the snow… And this grey monument to common s… Resists the weather. Fears of idl… Of protest, men in league, and of…
All afternoon my father drove the… between Detroit and Lansing. What… I never learned, no doubt because… though he would grab any unfamilia… and follow where it led past field…
When Nellie, my old pussy cat, was still in her prime, she would sit behind me as I wrote, and when the line got too long she’d reach
Along the strand stones, busted shells, wood scraps, bottle tops, dimpled and stainless beer cans. Something began here
The river rises and the rains keep coming. My Papa says it can’t flood for the water can run
If I gave 5 birds each 4 eyes I would be blind unto the 3rd generation, if I
When the Lieutenant of the Guardi… heard the automatic go off, he tur… and took the second shot just abov… the sternum, the third tore away the right shoulder of his uniform,
A good man is seized by the police and spirited away. Months later someone brags that he shot him onc… through the back of the head with a Walther 7.65, and his life
Early March. The cold beach deserted. My kids home in a bare house, bundled up and listening to rock music pirated from England. My wife
Everyone comes back here to die as I will soon. The place feels r… since it’s half dead to begin with… Even on a rare morning of rain, like this morning, with the low sk…
Beaten like an old hound Whimpering by the stove, I complicate the pain That smarts with promised love. The oilstove falls, the rain,
You pull over to the shoulder of the two-lane road and sit for a moment wonderin… where you were going in such a hurry. The valley is bur…