#AmericanWriters
Executioner happy to explain How his wristwatch works As he shadows me on the street. I call him that because he is grim… And wears black.
Of the light in my room: Its mood swings, Dark-morning glooms, Summer ecstasies. Spider on the wall,
There was a melon fresh from the g… So ripe the knife slurped As it cut it into six slices. The children were going back to sc… Their mother, passing out paper pl…
Not a peep out of you now After the bedlam early this mornin… Are you begging pardon of me Hidden up there among the leaves, Or are your brains momentarily ove…
On the first page of my dreambook It’s always evening In an occupied country. Hour before the curfew. A small provincial city.
A world’s disappearing. Little street, You were too narrow, Too much in the shade already. You had only one dog,
Great are the Hittites. Their ears have mice and mice have… Their dogs bury themselves and lea… To guard the house. A single weed… Until the spiderwebs spread over t…
And the one that’s got it in for y… Mister, that keeps taunting you In an old man’s morning wheeze Every time you so much as glance a… Or blurt something in your defense…
Millions were dead; everybody was… I stayed in my room. The Presiden… Spoke of war as of a magic love po… My eyes were opened in astonishmen… In a mirror my face appeared to me
As an ant is powerless Against a raised boot, And only has an instant To have a bright idea or two. The black boot so polished,
I liked my little hole, Its window facing a brick wall. Next door there was a piano. A few evenings a month a crippled old man came to play
You give the appearance of listeni… To my thoughts, o trees, Bent over the road I am walking On a late summer evening When every one of you is a steep s…
This last continent Still to be discovered. My hand is dreaming, is building Its ship. For crew it takes A pack of bones, for food
The one who had been whispering All along in this empty theater And whose voice I just heard— Or imagined I did Distracted as I was by my own tho…
St. John of the Cross wore dark g… As he passed me on the street. St. Theresa of Avila, beautiful a… Turned her back on me. “Soulmate,” they hissed. “It’s hi…