#AmericanWriters
Summer grows old, cold—blooded mot… The insects are scant, skinny. In these palustral homes we only Croak and wither. Mornings dissipate in somnolence.
On this bald hill the new year hon… Faceless and pale as china The round sky goes on minding its… Your absence is inconspicuous; Nobody can tell what I lack.
This is winter, this is night, sma… A sort of black horsehair, A rough, dumb country stuff Steeled with the sheen Of what green stars can make it to…
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.
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
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…
Over your body the clouds go High, high and icily And a little flat, as if they Unlike swans, Having no reflections;
Empty, I echo to the least footfa… Museum without statues, grand with… In my courtyard a fountain leaps a… Nun—hearted and blind to the world… Exhale their pallor like scent.
Now we, returning from the vaulted… Of our colossal sleep, come home t… A tall metropolis of catacombs Erected down the gangways of our m… Green alleys where we reveled have…
The scene stands stubborn: skinfli… Hoard last year’s leaves, won’t mo… To elegiac dryads, and dour grass Guards the hard-hearted emerald of… However the grandiloquent mind may…
Pure? What does it mean? The tongues of hell Are dull, dull as the triple Tongues of dull, fat Cerebus Who wheezes at the gate. Incapabl…
What a thrill —— My thumb instead of an onion. The top quite gone Except for a sort of a hinge Of skin,
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…
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…
How far is it? How far is it now? The gigantic gorilla interior Of the wheels move, they appall me… The terrible brains