#AmericanWriters
Why do I write today? The beauty of the terrible faces of our nonentites stirs me to it:
You sullen pig of a man you force me into the mud with your stinking ash-cart! Brother! —if we were rich
a burst of iris so that come down for breakfast we searched through the rooms for
Leaves are graygreen, the glass broken, bright green.
Love is twain, it is not single, Gold and silver mixed to one, Passion 'tis and pain which ming… Glist’ring then for aye undone. Pain it is not; wondering pity
Winter is long in this climate and spring—a matter of a few days only,—a flower or two picked from mud or from among wet leaves or at best against treacherous
Among the rain and lights I saw the figure 5 in gold on a red
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…
If you had come away with me into another state we had been quiet together. But there the sun coming up out of the nothing beyond the lake…
WHERE shall I find you— You, my grotesque fellows That I seek everywhere To make up my band? None, not one
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...
Oh, black Persian cat! Was not your life already cursed with offspring? We took you for rest to that old Yankee farm, —so lonely
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…
And yet one arrives somehow, finds himself loosening the hooks… her dress in a strange bedroom— feels the autumn
School is over. It is too hot to walk at ease. At ease in light frocks they walk the stre… to while the time away. They have grown tall. They hold