#AmericanWriters
Pour the wine bridegroom where before you the bride is enthroned her hair loose at her temples a head of ripe wheat is on
While she sits there with tears on her cheek her cheek on
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…
It was an icy day. We buried the cat, then took her box and set fire to it in the back yard.
Sooner or later we must come to the end of striving to re-establish the image the image of
a trouble archaically fettered to produce E Pluribus Unum an island
I gotta buy me a new girdle. (I’ll buy you one) O.K.
From the Nativity which I have already celebrated the Babe in its Mother’s arms the Wise Men in their stolen splendor
A middle-northern March, now as a… gusts from the South broken agains… but from under, as if a slow hand… it moves—not into April—into a sec… the old skin of wind-clear scales…
Each time it rings I think it is for me but it is not for me nor for anyone it merely
The brutal Lord of All will rip us from each other—leave the one to suffer here alone. No need belief in god or hell to postulate that much. The dance: hands touching, leaves touch...
Rather notice, mon cher, that the moon is titled above the point of the steeple than that its color
The crowd at the ball game is moved uniformly by a spirit of uselessness which delights them— all the exciting detail
Why pretend to remember the weather two years back? Why not? Listen close then repeat after others what they have just said and win a reputation for vivacity. Oh feed upon petals o...
Love is twain, it is not single, Gold and silver mixed to one, Passion 'tis and pain which ming… Glist’ring then for aye undone. Pain it is not; wondering pity