#AmericanWriters
I have eaten the plums that were in the icebox and which
Of asphodel, that greeny flower, like a buttercup upon its branching stem– save that it’s green and wooden– I come, my sweet,
Not because of his eyes, the eyes of a bird, but because he is beaked, birdlike, to do an injury, has the turtle attracted you.
a burst of iris so that come down for breakfast we searched through the rooms for
so much depends upon a red wheel barrow glazed with rain
If when my wife is sleeping and the baby and Kathleen are sleeping and the sun is a flame-white disc in silken mists
Among the rain and lights I saw the figure 5 in gold on a red
Gagarin says, in ecstasy, he could have gone on forever he floated ate and sang
It’s a strange courage you give me ancient star: Shine alone in the sunrise toward which you lend no part!
O’eh’lee! La’la! Donna! Donna! Blue is the sky of Palermo; Blue is the little bay; And dost thou remember the orange…
They call me and I go. It is a frozen road past midnight, a dust of snow caught in the rigid wheeltracks.
One leaves his leaves at home beomg a mullen and sends up a ligh… to peer from: I will have my way, yellow—A mast with a lantern, ten fifty, a hundred, smaller and smal…
the back wings of the hospital where nothing will grow lie
When I am alone I am happy. The air is cool. The sky is flecked and splashed and wound with color. The crimson phalloi of the sassafras leaves
A power-house in the shape of a red brick chair 90 feet high on the seat of which