#AmericanWriters #FreeVerse
Your thighs are appletrees whose blossoms touch the sky. Which sky? The sky where Watteau hung a lady’s slipper. Your knees
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.
Oh, black Persian cat! Was not your life already cursed with offspring? We took you for rest to that old Yankee farm, —so lonely
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…
It is still warm enough to slip from the weeds into the lake’s edge, your clothes blushing in the grass and three small boys grinning behind the derelict hearth’s side. But summer...
Mr T. bareheaded in a soiled undershirt his hair standing out on all sides
When over the flowery, sharp pastu… edge, unseen, the salt ocean lifts its form—chicory and daisies tied, released, seem hardly flower… but color and the movement—or the…
Gagarin says, in ecstasy, he could have gone on forever he floated ate and sang
This horrible but superb painting the parable of the blind without a red in the composition shows a group of beggars leading
munching a plum on the street a paper bag of them in her hand They taste good to her They taste good
You sullen pig of a man you force me into the mud with your stinking ash-cart! Brother! —if we were rich
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...
I bought a dish mop— having no daughter— for they had twisted fine ribbons of shining copper about white twine
She sits with tears on her cheek her cheek on her hand
You Communists and Republicans! all you Germans and Frenchmen! you corpses and quickeners! The stars are about to melt and fall on you in tears.