#AmericanWriters
WHERE shall I find you— You, my grotesque fellows That I seek everywhere To make up my band? None, not one
It was an icy day. We buried the cat, then took her box and set fire to it in the back yard.
The grass is very green, my friend… and tousled, like the head of —— your grandson, yes? And the mounta… the mountain we climbed twenty years since for the last
A middle-northern March, now as a… gusts from the South broken agains… but from under, as if a slow hand… it moves—not into April—into a sec… the old skin of wind-clear scales…
You sullen pig of a man you force me into the mud with your stinking ash-cart! Brother! —if we were rich
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
Vast and grey, the sky is a simulacrum to all but him whose days are vast and grey and— In the tall, dried grasses
In this world of as fine a pair of breasts as ever I saw the fountain in Madison Square
The crowd at the ball game is moved uniformly by a spirit of uselessness which delights them— all the exciting detail
In the flashes and black shadows of July the days, locked in each other’s a… seem still so that squirrels and colored bird…
The half-stripped trees struck by a wind together, bending all, the leaves flutter drily and refuse to let go
Gagarin says, in ecstasy, he could have gone on forever he floated ate and sang
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—
I have discovered that most of the beauties of travel are due to the strange hours we keep to see t… the domes of the Church of the Paulist Fathers in Weehawken
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…
