#AmericanWriters
A three-day-long rain from the eas… an terminable talking, talking of no consequence—patter, patter,… Hand in hand little winds blow the thin streams aslant.
An old willow with hollow branches slowly swayed his few high gright… and sang: Love is a young green willow shimmering at the bare wood’s edge…
Trundled from the strangeness of the sea —— a kind of heaven —— Ladies and Gentlemen!
a trouble archaically fettered to produce E Pluribus Unum an island
It is a small plant delicately branched and tapering conically to a point, each branch and the peak a wire for
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
Nude bodies like peeled logs sometimes give off a sweetest odor, man and woman under the trees in full excess matching the cushion of
SORROW is my own yard where the new grass flames as it has flamed often before but not with the cold fire
Why pretend to remember the weather two years back? Why not? Listen close then repeat after others what they have just said and win a reputation for vivacity. Oh feed upon petals o...
Your thighs are appletrees whose blossoms touch the sky. Which sky? The sky where Watteau hung a lady’s slipper. Your knees
Gagarin says, in ecstasy, he could have gone on forever he floated ate and sang
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.
Yellow, yellow, yellow, yellow! It is not a color. It is summer! It is the wind on a willow, the lap of waves, the shadow
Here it is spring again and I still a young man! I am late at my singing. The sparrow with the black rain on… has been at his cadenzas for two w…
By constantly tormenting them with reminders of the lice in their children’s hair, the School Physician first brought their hatred down on him.