#AmericanWriters
My candle burned alone in an immen… Beams of the huge night converged… Until the wind blew. The beams of the huge night Converged upon its image,
Lulu sang of barbarians before the… Of gobs, who called her orchidean, Sniffed her and slapped heavy hand… Upon her. She made the eunuchs ululate.
There were ghosts that returned to… As he sat there reading, aloud, th… They were those from the wildernes… There were those that returned to… Of the pans above the stove, the p…
There’s a little square in Paris, Waiting until we pass. They sit idly there, They sip the glass. There’s a cab-horse at the corner,
Not less because in purple I desc… The western day through what you c… The loneliest air, not less was I… What was the ointment sprinkled on… What were the hymns that buzzed be…
Among twenty snowy mountains, The only moving thing Was the eye of the blackbird. I was of three minds, Like a tree
Her terrace was the sand And the palms and the twilight. She made of the motions of her wri… The grandiose gestures Of her thought.
In my room, the world is beyond my… But when I walk I see that it con… hills and a cloud. From my balcony, I survey the yel… Reading where I have written,
The houses are haunted By white night-gowns. None are green, Or purple with green rings, Or green with yellow rings,
After the final no there comes a y… And on that yes the future world d… No was the night. Yes is this pre… If the rejected things, the things… Slid over the western cataract, ye…
Although you sit in a room that is… Except for the silver Of the straw-paper, And pick At your pale white gown;
That’s what misery is, Nothing to have at heart. It is to have or nothing. It is a thing to have, A lion, an ox in his breast,
As the immense dew of Florida Brings forth The big-finned palm And green vine angering for life, As the immense dew of Florida
Just as my fingers on these keys Make music, so the self-same sound… On my spirit make a music, too. Music is feeling, then, not sound; And thus it is that what I feel,
The difficulty to think at the end… When the shapeless shadow covers t… And nothing is left except light o… There was the cat slopping its mil… Fat cat, red tongue, green mind, w…