#AmericanWriters
She sits with tears on her cheek her cheek on her hand
I have had my dream—like others— and it has come to nothing, so tha… I remain now carelessly with feet planted on the ground and look up at the sky—
Beloved you are Caviar of Caviar Of all I love you best O my Japanese bird nest No herring from Norway
I feel the caress of my own finger… on my own neck as I place my colla… and think pityingly of the kind women I have known.
The brutal Lord of All will rip us from each other—leave the one to suffer here alone. No need belief in god or hell to postulate that much. The dance: hands touching, leaves touch...
The coroner’s merry little childre… Have such twinkling brown eyes. Their father is not of gay men And their mother jocular in no wis… Yet the coroner’s merry little chi…
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…
Flowers through the window lavender and yellow changed by white curtains— Smell of cleanliness— Sunshine of late afternoon—
munching a plum on the street a paper bag of them in her hand They taste good to her They taste good
When the snow falls the flakes spi… that concerns them most intimately two and two to make a dance the mind dances with itself, taking you by the hand,
Let the snake wait under his weed and the writing be of words, slow and quick, sharp to strike, quiet to wait,
This horrible but superb painting the parable of the blind without a red in the composition shows a group of beggars leading
The rose is obsolete but each petal ends in an edge, the double facet cementing the grooved columns of air ——The edge
I must tell you this young tree whose round and firm trunk between the wet pavement and the gutter
A rumpled sheet Of brown paper About the length And apparent bulk Of a man was