#AmericanWriters
Warm sun, quiet air an old man sits in the doorway of a broken house— boards for windows
WHERE shall I find you— You, my grotesque fellows That I seek everywhere To make up my band? None, not one
The green-blue ground is ruled with silver lines to say the sun is shining And on this moral sea of grass or dreams lie flowers
The coroner’s merry little childre… Have such twinkling brown eyes. Their father is not of gay men And their mother jocular in no wis… Yet the coroner’s merry little chi…
A rumpled sheet Of brown paper About the length And apparent bulk Of a man was
The over-all picture is winter icy mountains in the background the return from the hunt it is toward evening from the left
Old age is a flight of small cheeping birds skimming bare trees
Oh strong—ridged and deeply hollow… nose of mine! what will you not be… What tactless asses we are, you an… always indiscriminate, always unas… and now it is the souring flowers…
contend in a sea which the land pa… shielding them from the too—heavy… of an ungoverned ocean which when… tortures the biggest hulls, the be… to pit against its beatings, and s…
The rose is obsolete but each petal ends in an edge, the double facet cementing the grooved columns of air—The edge
Oh, black Persian cat! Was not your life already cursed with offspring? We took you for rest to that old Yankee farm, —so lonely
SORROW is my own yard where the new grass flames as it has flamed often before but not with the cold fire
Beloved you are Caviar of Caviar Of all I love you best O my Japanese bird nest No herring from Norway
Light hearted William twirled his November moustaches and, half dressed, looked from the bedroom window upon the spring weather.
Sooner or later we must come to the end of striving to re-establish the image the image of