#AmericanWriters
beauty is a shell from the sea where she rules triumphant till love has had its way with her scallops and
My shoes as I lean unlacing them stand out upon flat worsted flowers under my feet.
The rose is obsolete but each petal ends in an edge, the double facet cementing the grooved columns of air—The edge
The murderer’s little daughter who is barely ten years old jerks her shoulders right and left so as to catch a glimpse of me
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…
One leaves his leaves at home beomg a mullen and sends up a ligh… to peer from: I will have my way, yellow—A mast with a lantern, ten fifty, a hundred, smaller and smal…
The sky has given over its bitterness. Out of the dark change all day long rain falls and falls
Gagarin says, in ecstasy, he could have gone on forever he floated ate and sang
The half-stripped trees struck by a wind together, bending all, the leaves flutter drily and refuse to let go
NOW that I have cooled to you Let there be gold of tarnished mas… Temples soothed by the sun to ruin That sleep utterly. Give me hand for the dances,
Ecstatic bird songs pound the hollow vastness of the sky with metallic clinkings— beating color up into it at a far edge,—beating it, beating…
It was an icy day. We buried the cat, then took her box and set fire to it in the back yard.
A power-house in the shape of a red brick chair 90 feet high on the seat of which
By constantly tormenting them with reminders of the lice in their children’s hair, the School Physician first brought their hatred down on him.
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 . . .