#AmericanWriters
Budger of history Brake of time Y… Toy of universe Grandest of all s… Do I hate the mischievous thunder… The bumpy club of One Million B.… Catapult Da Vinci tomahawk Cochi…
With a love a madness for Shelley Chatterton Rimbaud and the needy-yap of my youth has gone from ear to ear: I HATE OLD POETMEN!
I ran up six flights of stairs to my small furnished room opened the window and began throwing out those things most important in lif…
When I laid aside the verses of M… I lived a life of canned heat and… alone, not far from my body did I… walked with a hope of a sudden dre… O rose, downfallen, bend your huge…
Budger of history Brake of time… Toy of universe Grandest of all… Do I hate the mischievous thunder… The bumpy club of One Million B.… Catapult Da Vinci tomahawk Coc…
My hands did numb to beauty as they reached into Death and tig… O sovereign was my touch upon the tan-inks’s fragile page! Quickly, my eyes moved quickly,
How inseparable you and the Ameri… there to see; you and America, lik… ground, are one the same; yet how… in the state of Oregon. . . dead e… like a snow polar loping the
There’s a truth limits man A truth prevents his going any far… The world is changing The world knows it’s changing Heavy is the sorrow of the day
I am a great American I am almost nationalistic about it… I love America like a madness! But I am afraid to return to Amer… I’m even afraid to go into the Am…
I stand in the dark light in the d… street and look up at my window, I was born there. The lights are on; other people ar…
Uncomprising year’I see no mean… Though this abled self is here non… either in trade gold or grammaticn… I drop the wheelwright’s simple… Why weave the garland? Why ring t…
I dreamed Ted Williams leaning at night against the Eiffel Tower, weeping… He was in uniform and his bat lay at his feet
I reached heaven and it was syrupy… It was oppressively sweet. Croaking substances stuck to my kn… Of all substances St. Michael was… I grabbed him and pasted him on my…
What simple profundities What profound simplicities To sit down among the trees and breathe with them in murmur brool and breeze—
a slow thoughtful spontaneous poem I am 32 years old and finally I look my age, if not… Is it a good face what’s no more a… It seems fatter. And my hair,