#AmericanWriters
WHERE shall I find you— You, my grotesque fellows That I seek everywhere To make up my band? None, not one
a trouble archaically fettered to produce E Pluribus Unum an island
Gagarin says, in ecstasy, he could have gone on forever he floated ate and sang
Beloved you are Caviar of Caviar Of all I love you best O my Japanese bird nest No herring from Norway
I must tell you this young tree whose round and firm trunk between the wet pavement and the gutter
Pour the wine bridegroom where before you the bride is enthroned her hair loose at her temples a head of ripe wheat is on
You say love is this, love is that… Poplar tassels, willow tendrils the wind and the rain comb, tinkle and drip, tinkle and drip— branches drifting apart. Hagh!
Leaves are graygreen, the glass broken, bright green.
"Sweet land" at last! out of sea— the Venusremembering wavelets rippling with laughter—
The world begins again! Not wholly insufflated the blackbirds in the rain upon the dead topbranches of the living tree,
A three-day-long rain from the eas… an terminable talking, talking of no consequence—patter, patter,… Hand in hand little winds blow the thin streams aslant.
I feel the caress of my own finger… on my own neck as I place my colla… and think pityingly of the kind women I have known.
This horrible but superb painting the parable of the blind without a red in the composition shows a group of beggars leading
Paterson lies in the valley under… its spent waters forming the outli… lies on his right side, head near… of the waters filling his dreams!… his dreams walk about the city whe…
A middle-northern March, now as a… gusts from the South broken agains… but from under, as if a slow hand… it moves—not into April—into a sec… the old skin of wind-clear scales…