Tag Archives: American Poets

Better that every fiber crack and fury make head, blood …

No novice In those elaborate rituals Which allay the malice …

I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions. Whatever …

I’m a riddle in nine syllables, An elephant, a ponderous …

Off that landspit of stony mouth-plugs, Eyes rolled by white …

By the gate with star and moon Worked into the …

Mud-mattressed under the sign of the hag In a clench …

The Sunday lamb cracks in its fat. The fat Sacrifices …

Where the three magenta Breakwaters take the shove And suck …

Up here among the gull cries we stroll through a …

The abstracts hover like dull angels: Nothing so vulgar as …

Once I was ordinary: Sat by my father’s bean tree …