#AmericanWriters
This particular thing, whether it be four pinches of four divers white powders cleverly compounded to cure surely, safely, pleasantly a painful twitching of the eyelids or say a pe...
Paterson lies in the valley under… its spent waters forming the outli… lies on his right side, head near… of the waters filling his dreams!… his dreams walk about the city whe…
It is a willow when summer is over… a willow by the river from which no leaf has fallen nor bitten by the sun turned orange or crimson.
The world begins again! Not wholly insufflated the blackbirds in the rain upon the dead topbranches of the living tree,
I’ve fond anticipation of a day O’erfilled with pure diversion pre… For I must read a lady poesy The while we glide by many a leafy… Hid deep in rushes, where at rando…
O—EH—lee! La—la! Donna! Donna! Blue is the sky of Palermo; Blue is the little bay; And dost thou remember the orange…
In Brueghel’s great picture, The… the dancers go round, they go roun… around, the squeal and the blare a… tweedle of bagpipes, a bugle and f… tipping their bellies (round as th…
Men with picked voices chant the n… of cities in a huge gallery: promi… that pull through descending stair… to a deep rumbling. The rubbing feet
What have I to say to you When we shall meet? Yet— I lie here thinking of you. The stain of love
munching a plum on the street a paper bag of them in her hand They taste good to her They taste good
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
They call me and I go. It is a frozen road past midnight, a dust of snow caught in the rigid wheeltracks.
In this world of as fine a pair of breasts as ever I saw the fountain in Madison Square
And yet one arrives somehow, finds himself loosening the hooks… her dress in a strange bedroom— feels the autumn
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