#AmericanWriters
Hearing a white saint rave About a quintessential beauty Visible only to the paragon heart, I tried my sight on an apple-tree That for eccentric knob and wart
This man makes a pseudonym And crawls behind it like a worm. This woman on the telephone Says she is a man, not a woman. The mask increases, eats the worm,
By the gate with star and moon Worked into the peeled orange wood The bronze snake lay in the sun Inert as a shoelace; dead But pliable still, his jaw
In Alicante they bowl the barrels Bumblingly over the nubs of the co… Past the yellow—paella eateries, Below the ramshackle back—alley ba… While the cocks and hens
From Water-Tower Hill to the bri… The shingle booms, bickering under The sea’s collapse. Snowcakes break and welter. This… The gritted wave leaps
Two virtues ride, by stallion, by… To grind our knives and scissors: Lantern—jawed Reason, squat Commo… One courting doctors of all sorts, One, housewives and shopkeepers.
O half moon’- Half-brain, luminosity’- Negro, masked like a white, Your dark Amputations crawl and appall’-
Love set you going like a fat gold… The midwife slapped your footsoles… Took its place among the elements. Our voices echo, magnifying your a… In a drafty museum, your nakedness
That grandiose colossus who Stood astride The envious assaults of sea (Essaying, wave by wave, Tide by tide,
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
Viciousness in the kitchen! The potatoes hiss. It is all Hollywood, windowless, The fluorescent light wincing on a… Coy paper strips for doors
It is ten years, now, since we row… The sun flamed straight down that… That summer we wore black glasses… We were always crying, in our spar… In the two, huge, white, handsome…
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…
Pocket watch, I tick well. The streets are lizardy crevices Sheer—sided, with holes where to h… It is best to meet in a cul—de—sac… A palace of velvet
Enter the chilly no—man’s land of about Five o’clock in the morning, the no—color void Where the waking head rubbishes out the draggled lot Of sulfurous dreamscapes and obscure lunar co...