#EnglishWriters
In the beginning was Scream Who begat Blood Who begat Eye Who begat Fear Who begat Wing
On the sheep-cropped summit, under… The mouse crouched, staring out th… It dared not take. Time and a world Too old to alter, the five mile pr…
We sit late, watching the dark slo… No clock counts this. When kisses are repeated and the a… There is no telling where time is. It is midsummer: the leaves hang b…
Against the rubber tongues of cows… Thistles spike the summer air And crackle open under a blue—blac… Every one a revengeful burst Of resurrection, a grasphed fistfu…
Great farmy whores, breasts bouncy… Like buttocks, and with buttocks l… Two white sows jammed in a sty doo… Are no dunghills for bawdry’s cock… Nor tigery tarts, with rubber back…
A green level of lily leaves Roofs the pond’s chamber and paves The flies’ furious arena: study These, the two minds of this lady. First observe the air’s dragonfly
With love so like fire they dared… Let it out into strawy small talk; With love so like a flood they dar… Let out a trickle lest the whole c… These two sat speechlessly:
I sit in the top of the wood, my e… Inaction, no falsifying dream Between my hooked head and hooked… Or in sleep rehearse perfect kills… The convenience of the high trees!
Terrifying are the attent sleek th… More coiled steel than living– a p… Dark deadly eye, those delicate le… Triggered to stirrings beyond sens… a stab
The flame—red moon, the harvest mo… Rolls along the hills, gently boun… A vast balloon, Till it takes off, and sinks upwar… To lie on the bottom of the sky, l…
Who owns those scrawny little feet… Who owns this bristly scorched—loo… Who owns these still—working lungs… Who owns this utility coat of musc… Who owns these unspeakable guts?…
Crow, feeling his brain slip, Finds his every feather the fossil… Who murdered all these? These living dead, that root in hi… Till he is visibly black?
Love struck into his life Like a hawk into a dovecote. What a cry went up! Every gentle pedigree dove Blindly clattered and beat,
She gives him his eyes, she found… Among some rubble, among some beet… He gives her her skin He just seemed to pull it down out… She weeps with fearfulness and ast…
Between Westminster and sunstruck… The desert has entered the flea’s… Like shut—eyed half—submerged Nil… The buildings tremble with breath. The mirage of river is so real
