#AmericanWriters
WHY shall I keep the old name? What is a name anywhere anyway? A name is a cheap thing all father… each child: A job is a job and I want to live…
Pile the bodies high at Austerlit… Shovel them under and let me work— I am the grass; I cover all. And pile them high at Gettysburg And pile them high at Ypres and V…
TAKE your fill of intimate remor… Over the dead child of a millionai… And the pity of Death refusing an… Which the millionaire might order… scratch off
FELIKSOWA has gone again from… She and her husband took with them… She went like a swine, because she… That is where she ought to live, w… She was something of an ape before…
BORN a million years ago you sta… watching the women come and live a… you and they thin-gray thin-dusk l… So it goes: either the early morni… I am glad I have seen racehorses,…
I WAS born on the prairie and th… slogan. Here the water went down, the iceb… yellow sandy loam. Here between the sheds of the Roc…
THERE was a late autumn cricket, And two smoldering mountain sunset… Under the valley roads of her eyes… There was a late autumn cricket, A hangover of summer song,
REMEMBRANCE for a great man i… The newsies are pitching pennies. And on the copper disk is the man’… Dead lover of boys, what do you as…
RED drips from my chin where I h… Not all the blood, nowhere near al… Clots of red mess my hair And the tiger, the buffalo, know h… I was a killer.
IF I should pass the tomb of Jon… I would stop there and sit for awh… Because I was swallowed one time… And came out alive after all. If I pass the burial spot of Nero
BY day... tireless smokestacks...… By night... all lit up... fire-gol…
I was born in the morning of the w… So I know how morning looks morning in the valley wanting, morning on a mountain wanting. Morning looks like people look,
THE SNOW piles in dark places a… Pools by the railroad tracks shine… The gravel of all shallow places s… A white pigeon reels and somersaul… Frogs plutter and squdge-and frogs…
IN Abraham Lincoln’s city, Where they remember his lawyer’s s… The place where they brought him Wrapped in battle flags, Wrapped in the smoke of memories
SELL me a violin, mister, of old… Sell me a fiddle that has kissed d… Sell me dried wood that has ached… Sell me horsehair and rosin that h… Sell me something crushed in the h…