#AmericanWriters
a clown’s smirk in the skull of a… (where once good lips stalked or e… my mirror gives me on this afterno… i am a shape that can but eat and… ere with the dirt death shall him…
the bed is not very big a sufficient pillow shoveling her small manure-shaped head one sheet on which distinctly wags at times the weary twig
i will be M o ving in the Street of her bodyfee 1 inga ro undMe the tr… lovely;muscles-sinke x p i r i… uddeni
I have seen her a stealthily frail flower walking with its fellows in… of light,against whose enormous cu… exactly cubes of tiny fragrance tr… i have watched certain petals rapi…
yours is the music for no instrume… yours the preposterous colour unbe… —mine the unbought contemptuous in… till this our felsh merely shall b… by speaking flower
Thou aged unreluctant earth who do… with quivering continual thighs in… the thrilling rain the slender par… to toy with thy extraordinary lust… (the sinuous rain which rising fro…
my sonnet is A light goes on in the toiletwindow,that’s straightac… my window,night air bothered with… sort of sublimated tom-tom which quite outdoes the mandolin-
let’s live suddenly without thinki… under honest trees, a stream does.the brain of cleverly-crinkli… -water pursues the angry dream
the wind is a Lady with bright slender eyes(who moves)at sunset and who—touches—the hills without any reason
it is at moments after i have drea… of the rare entertainment of your… when(being fool to fancy)i have de… with your peculiar mouth my heart… at moments when the glassy darknes…
as freedom is a breakfastfood or truth can live with right and w… or molehills are from mountains ma… —long enough and just so long will being pay the rent of seem
I like my body when it is with you… body. It is so quite new a thing. Muscles better and nerves more. i like your body. i like what it… i like its hows. i like to feel t…
nobody loses all the time i had an uncle named Sol who was a born failure and nearly everybody said he should ha… into vaudeville perhaps because my…
the emperor sleeps in a palace of porphyry which was a million years building he takes the air in a howdah of jasper beneath saffron
Picasso you give us things which bulge:grunting lungs pumped full o… you make us shrill