#Americans
The lean hands of wagon men put out pointing fingers here, picked this crossway, put it on a… set up their sawbucks, fixed their… found a hitching place for the pon…
LISTEN a while, the moon is a l… Listen a while, the lake by night… I know the moon and the lake have…
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
AFTER you have spent all the money modistes and manicures and mannikins will take for fixing you over into a thing the people on the streets call proud and beautiful, After the shops an...
I TOO have a garret of old playt… I have tin soldiers with broken ar… I have a wagon and the wheels gone… I have guns and a drum, a jumping-… And dust is on them and I never l…
or a man out of the ashes of false dawn muttering 'hot-dog’ to the night watchmen: Is there a spieler who has spoken the word or taken the number of night’s nothings? am I the spieler? ...
In the loam we sleep, In the cool moist loam, To the lull of years that pass And the break of stars, From the loam, then,
Lincoln? He was a mystery in smoke and flag… Saying yes to the smoke, yes to th… Yes to the paradoxes of democracy, Yes to the hopes of government
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,…
FACES of two eternities keep loo… One is Omar Khayam and the red st… wherein men forget yesterday and t… and remember only the voices and s… the stories, newspapers and fights…
HOW many feet ran with sunlight,… What little devils shaken of laugh… Fixed this lone red tulip, a woman… Who hurled this bomb of red caress… Love me before I die;
THE WIND stops, the wind begins… The wind says stop, begin. A sea shovel scrapes the sand floo… The shovel changes, the floor chan… The sandpipers, maybe they know.
Arithmetic is where numbers fly li… head. Arithmetic tells you how many you… how many you had before you lost o… Arithmetic is seven eleven all goo…
GIVE me your anathema. Speak new damnations on my head. The evening mist in the hills is s… The boulders on the road say commu… The farm dogs look out of their ey…
UNDER the harvest moon, When the soft silver Drips shimmering Over the garden nights, Death, the gray mocker,
