#AmericanWriters
Nude bodies like peeled logs sometimes give off a sweetest odor, man and woman under the trees in full excess matching the cushion of
Again I reply to the triple winds running chromatic fifths of derisi… outside my window: Play louder. You will not succeed. I am
The living quality of the man’s mind stands out and its covert assertions for art, art, art!
When the snow falls the flakes spi… that concerns them most intimately two and two to make a dance the mind dances with itself, taking you by the hand,
Sooner or later we must come to the end of striving to re-establish the image the image of
She sits with tears on her cheek her cheek on her hand
Summer! the painting is organized about a young reaper enjoying his noonday rest
Snow falls: years of anger following hours that float idly down — the blizzard drifts its weight
Light hearted William twirled his November moustaches and, half dressed, looked from the bedroom window upon the spring weather.
If when my wife is sleeping and the baby and Kathleen are sleeping and the sun is a flame-white disc in silken mists
My wife’s new pink slippers have gay pompons. There is not a spot or a stain on their satin toes or their sides… All night they lie together
Each time it rings I think it is for me but it is not for me nor for anyone it merely
THERE is a bird in the poplars— It is the sun! The leaves are little yellow fish Swimming in the river; The bird skims above them—
a trouble archaically fettered to produce E Pluribus Unum an island
Vast and grey, the sky is a simulacrum to all but him whose days are vast and grey and— In the tall, dried grasses