#AmericanWriters
African Guardian of Souls, Drunk with rum, Feasting on strange cassava, Yielding to new words and a weak p… Of a white-faced sardonic god—
I am a reaper whose muscles set at sundown. All my oats are cradled. But I am too chilled, and too fatigued to bind them. I crack a grain between my teeth. I do not taste it. I have bee...
Hair-braided chestnut, coiled like a lyncher’s rope, Eyes-fagots, Lips-old scars, or the first red b… Breath-the last sweet scent of can…
Come, brother, come. Lets lift it… come now, hewit! roll away! Shackles fall upon the Judgment D… But lets not wait for it. God’s body’s got a soul,
Whoever it was who brought the fir… To start the Fire, did his part w… Not all wood takes to fire from a… Nor coal from wood before it’s bur… The wood and coal in question caug…
whisper of yellow globes gleaming on lamp-posts that sway like bootleg licker drinkers in th… and let your breath be moist again… like bright beads on yellow globes
Pour O pour that parting soul in… O pour it in the sawdust glow of n… Into the velvet pine-smoke air ton… And let the valley carry it along. And let the valley carry it along.
Black reapers with the sound of st… Are sharpening scythes. I see the… In their hip-pockets as a thing th… And start their silent swinging, o… Black horses drive a mower through…
To those fixed on white, White is white, To those fixed on black, It is the same, And red is red,
Spatial depths of being survive The birth to death recurrences Of feet dancing on earth of sand; Vibrations of the dance survive The sand; the sand, elect, survive…
Full moon rising on the waters of… Lakes and moon and fires, Cloine tires, Holding her lips apart. Promises of slumber leaving shore…
A certain man wishes to be a princ… Of this earth; he also wants to be A saint and master of the being-wo… Conscience cannot exist in the fir… The second cannot exist without co…
Tell me, dear beauty of the dusk, When purple ribbons bind the hill, Do dreams your secret wish fulfill… Do prayers, like kernels from the… Come from your lips? Tell me if w…
There is no transcience of twiligh… The beauty of your soft dusk-dimpl… No flicker of a slender flame in s… In crucibles, fragility crystallin… There is no fragrance of the jessa…
Boll-weevil’s coming, and the wint… Made cotton-stalks look rusty, sea… And cotton, scarce as any southern… Was vanishing; the branch, so pinc… Failed in its function as the autu…
