#AmericanWriters
THE GRAVE of Alexander Hamilt… The grave of Robert Fulton likewi… And in this yard stenogs, bundle b… An iron picket fence... and stream… ... easy is the sleep of Alexander…
LET us go out of the fog, John,… Let us sit among the telegrams-cli… It is a fog night out and the umbr… Here the telegrams come-one king g… Let us go out in the fog, John, l…
YOUR eyes and the valley are mem… Your eyes fire and the valley a bo… It was here a moonrise crept over… It was here we turned the coffee c… And your eyes and the moon swept t…
IT is something to face the sun and know you are free. To hold your head in the shafts of daylight slanting the earth And know your heart has kept a promise and the blood runs clean: To...
THE KNEES of this proud woman are bone. The elbows of this proud woman
OVER the dead line we have calle… To come across with a word to us, Some beaten whisper of what happen… Where you are over the dead line Deaf to our calls and voiceless.
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? ...
OUT of white lips a question: Sh… Out of white lips:—Shall they hav… Out of white lips:—Is the red in… Out of white lips a white pain mur…
IN western fields of corn and nor… They talk about me, a saloon with… The soft red lights, the long curv… The leather seats and dim corners, Tall brass spittoons, a nigger cut…
STORMS have beaten on this poin… And ships gone to wreck here and the passers-by remember it with talk on the deck at night as they near it.
SEVEN nations stood with their h… It was the first week in August,… I was listening, you were listenin… listening, And all of us heard a Voice murmu…
STUFF of the moon Runs on the lapping sand Out to the longest shadows. Under the curving willows, And round the creep of the wave li…
I ASKED a gypsy pal To imitate an old image And speak old wisdom. She drew in her chin, Made her neck and head
Baby vamps, is it harder work than… Are the new soda parlors worse tha… Baby vamps, do you have jobs in th… In the winter at the skating rinks… Wherever figure eights are carved,…
I could love you as dry roots love rain. I could hold you as branches in the wind brandish petals.
