#AmericanWriters
Sooner or later we must come to the end of striving to re-establish the image the image of
You sullen pig of a man you force me into the mud with your stinking ash-cart! Brother! —if we were rich
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...
The over-all picture is winter icy mountains in the background the return from the hunt it is toward evening from the left
Subtle, clever brain, wiser than… by what devious means do you contr… to remain idle? Teach me, O maste…
THE ARCHER is wake! The Swan is flying! Gold against blue An Arrow is lying. There is hunting in heaven—
Beloved you are Caviar of Caviar Of all I love you best O my Japanese bird nest No herring from Norway
SOFT as the bed in the earth Where a stone has lain— So soft, so smooth and so cool, Spring closes me in With her arms and her hands.
The rose is obsolete but each petal ends in an edge, the double facet cementing the grooved columns of air ——The edge
As the cat climbed over the top of the jamcloset first the right
The pure products of America go crazy— mountain folk from Kentucky or the ribbed north end of Jersey
By the road to the contagious hosp… under the surge of the blue mottled clouds driven from the northeast—a cold wind. Beyond, th… waste of broad, muddy fields
It’s a strange courage you give me ancient star: Shine alone in the sunrise toward which you lend no part!
It is cold. The white moon is up among her scattered stars— like the bare thighs of the Police Sergeant’s wife—among her five children . . .
According to Brueghel when Icarus fell it was spring a farmer was ploughing his field