#AmericanWriters
The groundhog on the mountain did… But fatly scuttled into the splaye… And faced me, back to a ledge of d… Her sallow rodent teeth like casta… Against my leaning down, would not…
Kindness glides about my house. Dame Kindness, she is so nice! The blue and red jewels of her rin… In the windows, the mirrors Are filling with smiles.
Irrefutable, beautifully smug As Venus, pedestalled on a half—s… Shawled in blond hair and the salt Scrim of a sea breeze, the women Settle in their belling dresses.
Riding home from credulous blue do… the dreamer reins his waking appet… in panic at the crop of catacombs sprung up like plague of toadstool… refectories where he reveled have…
On the stiff twig up there Hunches a wet black rook Arranging and rearranging its feat… I do not expect a miracle Or an accident
Thou shalt have an everlasting Monday and stand in the moon. The moon’s man stands in his shell… Bent under a bundle Of sticks. The light falls chalk…
Arena dust rusted by four bulls’ b… The afternoon at a bad end under t… The ritual death each time botched… stabs, The strongest will seemed a will t…
Soliloquy Of The Solipsist I? I walk alone; The midnight street Spins itself from under my feet;
You bring me good news from the cl… Whipping off your silk scarf, exhi… Mummy—cloths, smiling: I’m all ri… When I was nine, a lime—green ane… Fed me banana gas through a frog—m…
Meadows of gold dust. The silver Currents of the Connecticut fan And meander in bland pleatings und… River-verge farms where rye-heads… All’s polished to a dull luster
Gold mouths cry with the green you… certainty of the bronze boy remembering a thousand autumns and how a hundred thousand leaves came sliding down his shoulder bla…
With white frost gone And all green dreams not worth muc… After a lean day’s work Time comes round for that foul slu… Mere bruit of her takes our street
“I shall never get you put togethe… Pieced, glued, and properly jointe… Mule—bray, pig—grunt and bawdy cac… Proceed from your great lips. It’s worse than a barnyard.
In Alicante they bowl the barrels Bumblingly over the nubs of the co… Past the yellow—paella eateries, Below the ramshackle back—alley ba… While the cocks and hens
Here in this valley of discrete ac… We have not mountains, but mounts,… To the Adirondacks, to northern M… Themselves mere rocky hillocks to… Still, they’re out best mustering…