#AmericanWriters
While she sits there with tears on her cheek her cheek on
A power-house in the shape of a red brick chair 90 feet high on the seat of which
Why go further? One might conceiv… Between two contending forces ther… Ay dio! I would say so much were… A man’s desire is to win his way…
Snow falls: years of anger following hours that float idly down — the blizzard drifts its weight
Go to sleep—though of course you w… to tideless waves thundering slant… strong embankments, rattle and swi… dashed thirty feet high, caught by… scattered and strewn broadcast in…
My shoes as I lean unlacing them stand out upon flat worsted flowers under my feet.
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
A day on the boulevards chosen out… student poverty! One best day out… Berket in high spirits—"Ha, orang… And he made to snatch an orange fr… Now so clever was the deception, s…
Her body is not so white as anemone petals nor so smooth ——nor so remote a thing. It is a field of the wild carrot taking the field by force; the grass
This is a schoolyard crowded with children of all ages near a village on a small stream
Old age is a flight of small cheeping birds skimming bare trees
The whole process is a lie, unless, crowned by excess, It break forcefully, one way or another,
I must tell you this young tree whose round and firm trunk between the wet pavement and the gutter
Flowers through the window lavender and yellow changed by white curtains— Smell of cleanliness— Sunshine of late afternoon—
Again I reply to the triple winds running chromatic fifths of derisi… outside my window: Play louder. You will not succeed. I am