#AmericanWriters
I bought a dish mop— having no daughter— for they had twisted fine ribbons of shining copper about white twine
Take it out in vile whisky, take i… in lifting your skirts to show you… crotches; it is this that is inten… You are it. Your pleas will alway… You too will always go up with the…
They tell me on the morrow I must… This winter eyrie for a southern f… And truth to tell I tremble with… At thought of such unheralded repr… E’er have I known December in a w…
Among of green stiff old
When I am alone I am happy. The air is cool. The sky is flecked and splashed and wound with color. The crimson phalloi of the sassafras leaves
The rose is obsolete but each petal ends in an edge, the double facet cementing the grooved columns of air—The edge
so much depends upon a red wheel barrow glazed with rain
Beloved you are Caviar of Caviar Of all I love you best O my Japanese bird nest No herring from Norway
The murderer’s little daughter who is barely ten years old jerks her shoulders right and left so as to catch a glimpse of me
Tracks of rain and light linger in the spongy greens of a nature whos… flickering mountain—bulging nearer… ebbing back into the sun hollowing itself away to hold a la…
The over-all picture is winter icy mountains in the background the return from the hunt it is toward evening from the left
When over the flowery, sharp pastu… edge, unseen, the salt ocean lifts its form—chicory and daisies tied, released, seem hardly flower… but color and the movement—or the…
If a man can say of his life or any moment of his life, There is nothing more to be desired! his st… becomes like that told in the famo… double sonnet—but without the
This is a slight stiff dance to a waking baby whose arms have been lying curled back above his head upon the pillow, making a flower—the eyes closed. Dead to the world! Waking is a...
The half-stripped trees struck by a wind together, bending all, the leaves flutter drily and refuse to let go