#AmericanWriters
And yet one arrives somehow, finds himself loosening the hooks… her dress in a strange bedroom— feels the autumn
Gagarin says, in ecstasy, he could have gone on forever he floated at and sang
As the cat climbed over the top of the jamcloset first the right
Vast and grey, the sky is a simulacrum to all but him whose days are vast and grey and— In the tall, dried grasses
ALL those treasures that lie in t… Mightier than the room of the star… All those treasures—I hold them i… Against the sides and the lid and… Crying that there is no sun come a…
It was an icy day. We buried the cat, then took her box and set fire to it in the back yard.
Let the snake wait under his weed and the writing be of words, slow and quick, sharp to strike, quiet to wait,
Fools have big wombs. For the rest?'here is pennyroyal if one knows to use it. But time is only another liar, so go along the wall a little further: if blackberries prove bitter...
Trundled from the strangeness of the sea —— a kind of heaven —— Ladies and Gentlemen!
O’eh’lee! La’la! Donna! Donna! Blue is the sky of Palermo; Blue is the little bay; And dost thou remember the orange…
Rather notice, mon cher, that the moon is titled above the point of the steeple than that its color
Yellow, yellow, yellow, yellow! It is not a color. It is summer! It is the wind on a willow, the lap of waves, the shadow
It’s all in the sound. A song. Seldom a song. It should be a song—made of particulars, wasps,
It’s a strange courage you give me ancient star: Shine alone in the sunrise toward which you lend no part!
Ecstatic bird songs pound the hollow vastness of the sky with metallic clinkings— beating color up into it at a far edge,—beating it, beating…