#AmericanWriters #FreeVerse
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…
unless there is a new mind there cannot be a new line
If a man can say of his life or any moment of his life, There is nothing more to be desired! his st… becomes like that told in the famo… double sonnet—but without the
Mr T. bareheaded in a soiled undershirt his hair standing out on all sides
It is a small plant delicately branched and tapering conically to a point, each branch and the peak a wire for
Pour the wine bridegroom where before you the bride is enthroned her hair loose at her temples a head of ripe wheat is on
My townspeople, beyond in the grea… are many with whom it were far mor… profitable for me to live than her… These whirr about me calling, call… and for my own part I answer them,…
I gotta buy me a new girdle. (I’ll buy you one) O.K.
I will teach you my towns… how to perform a funeral… for you have it over a tr… of artists— unless one should scour t…
You Communists and Republicans! all you Germans and Frenchmen! you corpses and quickeners! The stars are about to melt and fall on you in tears.
It is still warm enough to slip from the weeds into the lake’s edge, your clothes blushing in the grass and three small boys grinning behind the derelict hearth’s side. But summer...
the back wings of the hospital where nothing will grow lie
Old age is a flight of small cheeping birds skimming bare trees
Sooner or later we must come to the end of striving to re-establish the image the image of
It’s all in the sound. A song. Seldom a song. It should be a song—made of particulars, wasps,