#AmericanWriters
That lofty monarch, Monarch Mind, Blue-blooded in coarse country rei… Though he bedded in ermine, gorged… Pure Philosophy his love engrosse… While subjects hungered, empty-pur…
Tell me what you see in it: The pine tree like a Rorschach—bl… black against the orange light: Plant an orange pumpkin patch which at twelve will quaintly hatc…
My father kept a vaulted conch By two bronze bookends of ships in… And as I listened its cold teeth… With voices of that ambiguous sea Old Böcklin missed, who held a sh…
How far is it? How far is it now? The gigantic gorilla interior Of the wheels move, they appall me… The terrible brains
No use, no use, now, begging Reco… There is nothing to do with such a… Name, house, car keys, The little toy wife— Erased, sigh, sigh.
Gold mouths cry with the green you… certainty of the bronze boy remembering a thousand autumns and how a hundred thousand leaves came sliding down his shoulder bla…
Clocks cry: stillness is a lie, my… The wheels revolve, the universe k… (Proud you halt upon the spiral st… The asteroids turn traitor in the… And planets plot with old elliptic…
If you dissect a bird To diagram the tongue You’ll cut the chord Articulating song. If you flay a beast
No novice In those elaborate rituals Which allay the malice Of knotted table and crooked chair… The new woman in the ward
In sunless air, under pines Green to the point of blackness, s… Founding father set these lobed, w… To loom in the leaf-filtered gloom Black as the charred knuckle-bones
Always in the middle of a kiss Came the profane stimulus to cough… Always from teh pulpit during serv… Leaned the devil prompting you to… Behind mock—ceremony of your grief
I am silver and exact. I have no… Whatever I see I swallow immediat… Just as it is, unmisted by love or… I am not cruel, only truthful— The eye of a little god, four-corn…
The figs on the fig tree in the ya… Green, also, the grapes on the gre… Shading the brickred porch tiles. The money’s run out. How nature, sensing this, compound…
Compelled by calamity’s magnet They loiter and stare as if the ho… Burnt—out were theirs, or as if th… Some scandal might any minute ooze From a smoke—choked closet into li…
But I would rather be horizontal. I am not a tree with my root in th… Sucking up minerals and motherly l… So that each March I may gleam in… Nor am I the beauty of a garden b…