#AmericanWriters
Since Christmas they have lived w… Guileless and clear, Oval soul—animals, Taking up half the space, Moving and rubbing on the silk
Open-mouthed, the baby god Immense, bald, though baby-headed, Cried out for the mother’s dug. The dry volcanoes cracked and spli… Sand abraded the milkless lip.
The word of a snail on the plate o… It is not mine. Do not accept it. Acetic acid in a sealed tin? Do not accept it. It is not genui… A ring of gold with the sun in it?
Always in the middle of a kiss Came the profane stimulus to cough… Always from teh pulpit during serv… Leaned the devil prompting you to… Behind mock—ceremony of your grief
Revolving in oval loops of solar s… Couched in cauls of clay as in hol… Dead men render love and war no he… Lulled in the ample womb of the fu… No spiritual Caesars are these de…
This is newness: every little tawd… Obstacle glass-wrapped and peculia… Glinting and clinking in a saint’s… Don’t know what to make of the sud… The blind, white, awful, inaccessi…
Compelled by calamity’s magnet They loiter and stare as if the ho… Burnt—out were theirs, or as if th… Some scandal might any minute ooze From a smoke—choked closet into li…
The abstracts hover like dull ange… Nothing so vulgar as a nose or an… Bossing the ethereal blanks of the… Their whiteness bears no relation… Snow, chalk or suchlike. They’re
They called the place Lookout Far… Back then, the sun Didn’t go down in such a hurry. H… Lit things, that lamp of the Poss… Wet yet
By the roots of my hair some god g… I sizzled in his blue volts like a… The nights snapped out of sight li… A world of bald white days in a sh… A vulturous boredom pinned me in t…
They are the last romantics, these… Upside—down hearts of light tippin… And the fingers, taken in by their… Grown milky, almost clear, like th… It is touching, the way they’ll ig…
I’m through with this grand lookin… where adjectives play croquet with… methinks I shall absent me for a w… from rhetoric of these rococo quee… Item: chuck out royal rigmarole of…
Sky and sea, horizon-hinged Tablets of blank blue, couldn’t, Clapped shut, flatten this man out… The great gods, Stone-Head, Claw… Winded by much rock-bumping
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…
This is a dark house, very big. I made it myself, Cell by cell from a quiet corner, Chewing at the grey paper, Oozing the glue drops,