#AmericanWriters
This horrible but superb painting the parable of the blind without a red in the composition shows a group of beggars leading
The brutal Lord of All will rip us from each other—leave the one to suffer here alone. No need belief in god or hell to postulate that much. The dance: hands touching, leaves touch...
Fools have big wombs. For the rest?'here is pennyroyal if one knows to use it. But time is only another liar, so go along the wall a little further: if blackberries prove bitter...
And yet one arrives somehow, finds himself loosening the hooks… her dress in a strange bedroom— feels the autumn
Snow falls: years of anger following hours that float idly down — the blizzard drifts its weight
The whole process is a lie, unless, crowned by excess, It break forcefully, one way or another,
The over-all picture is winter icy mountains in the background the return from the hunt it is toward evening from the left
Of asphodel, that greeny flower, like a buttercup upon its branching stem— save that it’s green and wooden— I come, my sweet,
The little sparrows hop ingenuously about the pavement quarreling with sharp voices
It is a satisfaction a joy to have one of those in the house. when she takes a bath
Each time it rings I think it is for me but it is not for me nor for anyone it merely
Subtle, clever brain, wiser than… by what devious means do you contr… to remain idle? Teach me, O maste…
A big young bareheaded woman in an apron Her hair slicked back standing on the street One stockinged foot toeing
As the cat climbed over the top of the jamcloset first the right
Men with picked voices chant the n… of cities in a huge gallery: promi… that pull through descending stair… to a deep rumbling. The rubbing feet