I Won, You Lost (Philip Levine Poems)
The last of day gathers in the yellow parlor and drifts like fine dust across the face of the gilt-framed ...
The last of day gathers in the yellow parlor and drifts like fine dust across the face of the gilt-framed ...
Some days I catch a rhythm, almost a song in my own breath. I'm alone here in Brooklyn Heights, late ...
Brooklyn, 1929. Of course Crane's been drinking and has no idea who this curious Andalusian is, unable even to speak ...
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