#AmericanWriters
Snow falls: years of anger following hours that float idly down — the blizzard drifts its weight
a trouble archaically fettered to produce E Pluribus Unum an island
Tracks of rain and light linger in the spongy greens of a nature whos… flickering mountain—bulging nearer… ebbing back into the sun hollowing itself away to hold a la…
Pour the wine bridegroom where before you the bride is enthroned her hair loose at her temples a head of ripe wheat is on
The rose is obsolete but each petal ends in an edge, the double facet cementing the grooved columns of air—The edge
This horrible but superb painting the parable of the blind without a red in the composition shows a group of beggars leading
Old age is a flight of small cheeping birds skimming bare trees
There were some dirty plates and a glass of milk beside her on a small table near the rank, disheveled bed— Wrinkled and nearly blind
It’s a strange courage you give me ancient star: Shine alone in the sunrise toward which you lend no part!
Oh, black Persian cat! Was not your life already cursed with offspring? We took you for rest to that old Yankee farm, —so lonely
The over-all picture is winter icy mountains in the background the return from the hunt it is toward evening from the left
WHERE shall I find you— You, my grotesque fellows That I seek everywhere To make up my band? None, not one
I gotta buy me a new girdle. (I’ll buy you one) O.K.
My shoes as I lean unlacing them stand out upon flat worsted flowers under my feet.
O—EH—lee! La—la! Donna! Donna! Blue is the sky of Palermo; Blue is the little bay; And dost thou remember the orange…