#AmericanWriters
Beloved you are Caviar of Caviar Of all I love you best O my Japanese bird nest No herring from Norway
contend in a sea which the land pa… shielding them from the too—heavy… of an ungoverned ocean which when… tortures the biggest hulls, the be… to pit against its beatings, and s…
My shoes as I lean unlacing them stand out upon flat worsted flowers under my feet.
The murderer’s little daughter who is barely ten years old jerks her shoulders right and left so as to catch a glimpse of me
Upon the table in their bowl in violent disarray of yellow sprays, green spikes of leaves, red pointed petals and curled heads of blue
the back wings of the hospital where nothing will grow lie
Rather notice, mon cher, that the moon is titled above the point of the steeple than that its color
Among the rain and lights I saw the figure 5 in gold on a red
Tho’ I’m no Catholic I listen hard when the bells in the yellow—brick tower of their new church ring down the leaves
Why go further? One might conceivably rectify the rhythm, study all out and arrive at the perfection of a tiger lily or a china doorknob. One might lift all out of the ruck, be a worthy...
In this world of as fine a pair of breasts as ever I saw the fountain in Madison Square
Oh strong—ridged and deeply hollow… nose of mine! what will you not be… What tactless asses we are, you an… always indiscriminate, always unas… and now it is the souring flowers…
Flowers through the window lavender and yellow changed by white curtains— Smell of cleanliness— Sunshine of late afternoon—
I stopped the car to let the children down where the streets end in the sun at the marsh edge
Why do I write today? The beauty of the terrible faces of our nonentites stirs me to it:
