#AmericanWriters
The idiot bird leaps out and drunk… Atop the broken universal clock: The hour is crowed in lunatic thir… Out painted stages fall apart by s… While all the actors halt in morta…
Pocket watch, I tick well. The streets are lizardy crevices Sheer—sided, with holes where to h… It is best to meet in a cul—de—sac… A palace of velvet
Stars are dropping thick as stones… Picket of trees whose silhouette i… Than the dark of the sky because i… The woods are a well. The stars d… They seem large, yet they drop, an…
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
Through fen and farmland walking With my own country love I saw slow flocked cows move White hulks on their day’s cruisin… Sweet grass sprang for their grazi…
Your brother will trim my hedges! They darken your house, Nosy grower, Mole on my shoulder, To be scratched absently,
Clocks cry: stillness is a lie, my… The wheels revolve, the universe k… (Proud you halt upon the spiral st… The asteroids turn traitor in the… And planets plot with old elliptic…
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?
What a thrill —— My thumb instead of an onion. The top quite gone Except for a sort of a hinge Of skin,
What was she doing when it blew in Over the seven hills, the red furr… Was she arranging cups? It is imp… Was she at the window, listening? In that valley the train shrieks e…
The womb Rattles its pod, the moon Discharges itself from the tree wi… My landscape is a hand with no lin… The roads bunched to a knot,
It is ten years, now, since we row… The sun flamed straight down that… That summer we wore black glasses… We were always crying, in our spar… In the two, huge, white, handsome…
What is this, behind this veil, is… It is shimmering, has it breasts,… I am sure it is unique, I am sure… When I am quiet at my cooking I f… ‘Is this the one I am too appear…
Two virtues ride, by stallion, by… To grind our knives and scissors: Lantern—jawed Reason, squat Commo… One courting doctors of all sorts, One, housewives and shopkeepers.
But I would rather be horizontal. I am not a tree with my root in th… Sucking up minerals and motherly l… So that each March I may gleam in… Nor am I the beauty of a garden b…