#AmericanWriters
Today I pass the time reading a favorite haiku, saying the few words over and over… It feels like eating the same small, perfect grape
You know the parlor trick. wrap your arms around your own bod… and from the back it looks like someone is embracing you her hands grasping your shirt
There is a section in my library f… and another for Irish history, a few shelves for the poetry of Ch… and in the center a row of impertu… the ones you can turn to anytime,
All you have to do is listen to th… sometimes talks to his wife at a t… and notice how intent he is on mak… even though her lower lip is begin… and you will know why the women in…
It could be the name of a prehisto… that roamed the Paleozoic earth, r… on its hind legs to show off its l… or some lover in a myth who is met… It means treasury, but it is just…
You are the bread and the knife, The crystal goblet and the wine... —Jacques Crickillon You are the bread and the knife, the crystal goblet and the wine.
Some days I put the people in the… bend their legs at the knees, if they come with that feature, and fix them into the tiny wooden… All afternoon they face one anothe…
Today we woke up to a revolution o… its white flag waving over everyth… the landscape vanished, not a single mouse to punctuate th… and beyond these windows
I ask them to take a poem and hold it up to the light like a color slide or press an ear against its hive. I say drop a mouse into a poem
The first thing I heard this morn… was a soft, insistent rustle, the rapid flapping of wings against glass as it turned out, a small bird rioting
I wait for the holiday crowd to cl… before stepping onto the first wav… Soon I am walking across the Atla… thinking about Spain, checking for whales, waterspouts.
Tonight the moon is a cracker, with a bite out of it floating in the night, and in a week or so according to the calendar
The neighbors’ dog will not stop b… He is barking the same high, rhyth… that he barks every time they leav… They must switch him on on their w… The neighbors’ dog will not stop b…
They say you can jinx a poem if you talk about it before it is… If you let it out too early, they… your poem will fly away, and this time they are absolutely…
I imagined the atmosphere would be… shot with pristine light, not this sulphurous haze, the air ionized as before a thunde… Many have pictured a river here,