#AmericanWriters
Blameless as daylight I stood loo… At a field of horses, necks bent,… Tails streaming against the green Backdrop of sycamores. Sun was st… White chapel pinnacles over the ro…
Born green we were to this flawed garden, but in speckled thickets, warted a… spitefully skulks our warden, fixing his snare
It beguiles’ This little Odyssey In pink and lavender Over a surface of gently– Graded turquoise tiles
The Sunday lamb cracks in its fat… The fat Sacrifices its opacity. . . . A window, holy gold. The fire makes it precious,
The scene stands stubborn: skinfli… Hoard last year’s leaves, won’t mo… To elegiac dryads, and dour grass Guards the hard-hearted emerald of… However the grandiloquent mind may…
Haunched like a faun, he hooed From grove of moon—glint and fen—f… Until all owls in the twigged fore… Flapped black to look and brood On the call this man made.
In Benidorm there are melons, Whole donkey—carts full Of innumerable melons, Ovals and balls, Bright green and thumpable
Through portico of my elegant hous… With your wild furies, disturbing… And the fabulous lutes and peacock… Of all decorum which holds the whi… Now, rich order of walls is fallen…
the slime of all my yesterdays rots in the hollow of my skull and if my stomach would contract because of some explicable phenome… such as pregnancy or constipation
Old goatherds swear how all night… The warning whirr and burring of t… Who wakes with darkness and till d… Vampiring dry of milk each great g… Moon full, moon dark, the chary da…
The night is only a sort of carbon… Blueblack, with the much-poked per… Letting in the light, peephole aft… A bonewhite light, like death, beh… Under the eyes of the stars and th…
Or, cette jeune fille pointilleuse Lors d’une cérémonieuse promenade… Avec son dernier soupirant Fut soudain frappée, intolérableme… Par le brouhaha irrégulier des ois…
I thought that I could not be hur… I thought that I must surely be impervious to suffering— immune to pain or agony.
Black lake, black boat, two black,… Where do the black trees go that d… Their shadows must cover Canada. A little light is filtering from t… Their leaves do not wish us to hur…
In the rectory garden on his eveni… Paced brisk Father Shawn. A cold… In black Novemeber. After a slidi… Dew stood in chill sweat on each s… Each thorn; spiring from wet earth…