#AmericanWriters
'Perspective betrays with its dich… train tracks always meet, not here… in the impossible mind’s eye; horizons beat a retreat as we emba… on sophist seas to overtake that m…
Now coldness comes sifting down, l… To our bower at the lily root. Overhead the old umbrellas of summ… Wither like pithless hands. There… Hourly the eye of the sky enlarges…
That lofty monarch, Monarch Mind, Blue-blooded in coarse country rei… Though he bedded in ermine, gorged… Pure Philosophy his love engrosse… While subjects hungered, empty-pur…
The photographic chamber of the ey… records bare painted walls, while… lays the chromium nerves of plumbi… such poverty assaults the ego; cau… naked in the merely actual room,
Up here among the gull cries we stroll through a maze of pale red-mottled relics, shells, claws as if it were summer still. That season has turned its back.
All morning in the strawberry fiel… They talked about the Russians. Squatted down between the rows We listened. We heard the head woman say,
In sunless air, under pines Green to the point of blackness, s… Founding father set these lobed, w… To loom in the leaf—filtered gloom Black as the charred knuckle—bones
Revolving in oval loops of solar s… Couched in cauls of clay as in hol… Dead men render love and war no he… Lulled in the ample womb of the fu… No spiritual Caesars are these de…
Empty, I echo to the least footfa… Museum without statues, grand with… In my courtyard a fountain leaps a… Nun—hearted and blind to the world… Exhale their pallor like scent.
An old beast ended in this place: A monster of wood and rusty teeth. Fire smelted his eyes to lumps Of pale blue vitreous stuff, opaqu… As resin drops oozed from pine bar…
We came over the moor—top Through air streaming and green—li… Stone farms foundering in it, Valleys of grass altering In a light neither dawn
I’ve got a stubborn goose whose gu… Honeycombed with golden eggs, Yet won’t lay one. She, addled in her goose-wit, stru… The barnyard like those taloned ha…
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.
But I would rather be horizontal. I am not a tree with my root in th… Sucking up minerals and motherly l… So that each March I may gleam in… Nor am I the beauty of a garden b…
It beguiles’ This little Odyssey In pink and lavender Over a surface of gently– Graded turquoise tiles