#AmericanWriters
Once I was ordinary: Sat by my father’s bean tree Eating the fingers of wisdom. The birds made milk. When it thundered I hid under a f…
No lame excuses can gloss over Barge—tar clotted at the tide—line… I should have known better. Fifteen years between me and the b… Profited memory, but did away with…
Who are these people at the bridge… The rector, the midwife, the sexto… In my sleeveless summery dress I… And they are all gloved and covere… They are smiling and taking out ve…
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…
I’m a riddle in nine syllables, An elephant, a ponderous house, A melon strolling on two tendrils. O red fruit, ivory, fine timbers! This loaf’s big with its yeasty ri…
I’m through with this grand lookin… where adjectives play croquet with… methinks I shall absent me for a w… from rhetoric of these rococo quee… Item: chuck out royal rigmarole of…
From under the crunch of my man’s… green oat-sprouts jut; he names a lapwing, starts rabbits… legging it most nimble to sprigged hedge of bramble,
(I) This is the sea, then, this great… How the sun’s poultice draws on my… Electrifyingly—colored sherbets, s… By pale girls, travel the air in s…
The abstracts hover like dull ange… Nothing so vulgar as a nose or an… Bossing the ethereal blanks of the… Their whiteness bears no relation… Snow, chalk or suchlike. They’re
You will be aware of an absence, p… Growing beside you, like a tree, A death tree, color gone, an Aust… Balding, gelded by lightning—an il… And a sky like a pig’s backside, a…
The telegram says you have gone aw… And left our bankrupt circus on it… There is nothing more for me to sa… The maestro gives the singing bird… And they buy tickets for the tropi…
On the stiff twig up there Hunches a wet black rook Arranging and rearranging its feat… I do not expect a miracle Or an accident
No use, no use, now, begging Reco… There is nothing to do with such a… Name, house, car keys, The little toy wife— Erased, sigh, sigh.
Now we, returning from the vaulted… Of our colossal sleep, come home t… A tall metropolis of catacombs Erected down the gangways of our m… Green alleys where we reveled have…
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…