#AmericanWriters #FreeVerse
Mr T. bareheaded in a soiled undershirt his hair standing out on all sides
To make two bold statements: There’s nothing sentimental about a machine, and: A poem is a small (or large) machine made out of words. When I say there’s nothing sentimental about a poe...
Vast and grey, the sky is a simulacrum to all but him whose days are vast and grey and— In the tall, dried grasses
Sooner or later we must come to the end of striving to re-establish the image the image of
A big young bareheaded woman in an apron Her hair slicked back standing on the street One stockinged foot toeing
Fools have big wombs. For the rest?'here is pennyroyal if one knows to use it. But time is only another liar, so go along the wall a little further: if blackberries prove bitter...
Why pretend to remember the weather two years back? Why not? Listen close then repeat after others what they have just said and win a reputation for vivacity. Oh feed upon petals o...
The May sun—whom all things imitate— that glues small leaves to the wooden trees shone from the sky
The grass is very green, my friend… and tousled, like the head of —— your grandson, yes? And the mounta… the mountain we climbed twenty years since for the last
When the snow falls the flakes spi… that concerns them most intimately two and two to make a dance the mind dances with itself, taking you by the hand,
Let the snake wait under his weed and the writing be of words, slow and quick, sharp to strike, quiet to wait,
Leaves are graygreen, the glass broken, bright green.
The green-blue ground is ruled with silver lines to say the sun is shining And on this moral sea of grass or dreams lie flowers
Well, Lizzie Anderson! seventeen… the baby hard to find a father for… What will the good Father in Heav… to the local judge if he do not so… A little two-pointed smile and—pou…
The sky has given over its bitterness. Out of the dark change all day long rain falls and falls