#AmericanWriters
The over-all picture is winter icy mountains in the background the return from the hunt it is toward evening from the left
At ten AM the young housewife moves about in negligee behind the wooden walls of her husband’s… I pass solitary in my car. Then again she comes to the curb
The world begins again! Not wholly insufflated the blackbirds in the rain upon the dead topbranches of the living tree,
Why do I write today? The beauty of the terrible faces of our nonentites stirs me to it:
A rumpled sheet Of brown paper About the length And apparent bulk Of a man was
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…
I gotta buy me a new girdle. (I’ll buy you one) O.K.
She sits with tears on her cheek her cheek on her hand
Sooner or later we must come to the end of striving to re-establish the image the image of
It was an icy day. We buried the cat, then took her box and set fire to it in the back yard.
O—EH—lee! La—la! Donna! Donna! Blue is the sky of Palermo; Blue is the little bay; And dost thou remember the orange…
NOW that I have cooled to you Let there be gold of tarnished mas… Temples soothed by the sun to ruin That sleep utterly. Give me hand for the dances,
Oh, black Persian cat! Was not your life already cursed with offspring? We took you for rest to that old Yankee farm, —so lonely
SOFT as the bed in the earth Where a stone has lain— So soft, so smooth and so cool, Spring closes me in With her arms and her hands.
Pour the wine bridegroom where before you the bride is enthroned her hair loose at her temples a head of ripe wheat is on