#AmericanWriters
I have had my dream—like others— and it has come to nothing, so tha… I remain now carelessly with feet planted on the ground and look up at the sky—
From the Nativity which I have already celebrated the Babe in its Mother’s arms the Wise Men in their stolen splendor
Gagarin says, in ecstasy, he could have gone on forever he floated ate and sang
Sorrow is my own yard where the new grass flames as it has flamed often before but not with the cold fire
In this world of as fine a pair of breasts as ever I saw the fountain in Madison Square
I gotta buy me a new girdle. (I’ll buy you one) O.K.
If a man can say of his life or any moment of his life, There is nothing more to be desired! his st… becomes like that told in the famo… double sonnet—but without the
The grass is very green, my friend… and tousled, like the head of —— your grandson, yes? And the mounta… the mountain we climbed twenty years since for the last
"Sweet land" at last! out of sea— the Venusremembering wavelets rippling with laughter—
A three-day-long rain from the eas… an terminable talking, talking of no consequence—patter, patter,… Hand in hand little winds blow the thin streams aslant.
The murderer’s little daughter who is barely ten years old jerks her shoulders right and left so as to catch a glimpse of me
The green-blue ground is ruled with silver lines to say the sun is shining And on this moral sea of grass or dreams lie flowers
My shoes as I lean unlacing them stand out upon flat worsted flowers under my feet.
The birches are mad with green poi… the wood’s edge is burning with th… burning, seething—No, no, no. The birches are opening their leav… by one. Their delicate leaves unfo…
They call me and I go. It is a frozen road past midnight, a dust of snow caught in the rigid wheeltracks.