#AmericanWriters
Flowers through the window lavender and yellow changed by white curtains— Smell of cleanliness— Sunshine of late afternoon—
You sullen pig of a man you force me into the mud with your stinking ash-cart! Brother! —if we were rich
I bought a dish mop— having no daughter— for they had twisted fine ribbons of shining copper about white twine
Light hearted William twirled his November moustaches and, half dressed, looked from the bedroom window upon the spring weather.
The over-all picture is winter icy mountains in the background the return from the hunt it is toward evening from the left
In Brueghel’s great picture, The… the dancers go round, they go roun… around, the squeal and the blare a… tweedle of bagpipes, a bugle and f… tipping their bellies (round as th…
munching a plum on the street a paper bag of them in her hand They taste good to her They taste good
Oh strong—ridged and deeply hollow… nose of mine! what will you not be… What tactless asses we are, you an… always indiscriminate, always unas… and now it is the souring flowers…
ALL those treasures that lie in t… Mightier than the room of the star… All those treasures—I hold them i… Against the sides and the lid and… Crying that there is no sun come a…
The rose is obsolete but each petal ends in an edge, the double facet cementing the grooved columns of air ——The edge
Snow falls: years of anger following hours that float idly down — the blizzard drifts its weight
They call me and I go. It is a frozen road past midnight, a dust of snow caught in the rigid wheeltracks.
Not because of his eyes, the eyes of a bird, but because he is beaked, birdlike, to do an injury, has the turtle attracted you.
A day on the boulevards chosen out… student poverty! One best day out… Berket in high spirits—"Ha, orang… And he made to snatch an orange fr… Now so clever was the deception, s…
Your thighs are appletrees whose blossoms touch the sky. Which sky? The sky where Watteau hung a lady’s slipper. Your knees