Belle Isle, 1949 (Philip Levine Poems)
We stripped in the first warm spring night and ran down into the Detroit River to baptize ourselves in the ...
We stripped in the first warm spring night and ran down into the Detroit River to baptize ourselves in the ...
Pond snipe, bleached pine, rue weed, wart -- I walk by sedge and brown river rot to where the old ...
All afternoon my father drove the country roads between Detroit and Lansing. What he was looking for I never learned, ...
This harpie with dry red curls talked openly of her husband, his impotence, his death, the death of her lover, ...
Since I don't know who will be reading this or even if it will be read, I must invent someone ...
3-foot blue cannisters of nitro along a conveyor belt, slow fish speaking the language of silence. On the roof, I ...
Brooklyn, 1929. Of course Crane's been drinking and has no idea who this curious Andalusian is, unable even to speak ...
You pull over to the shoulder of the two-lane road and sit for a moment wondering where you were going ...
A solitary apartment house, the last one before the boulevard ends and a dusty road winds its slow way out ...
Vous êtes sorti sain et sauf des basses calomnies, vous avey conquis les coeurs. Zola, J'accuse One was kicked in ...
Rain filled the streets once a year, rising almost to door and window sills, battering walls and roofs until it ...
Some days I catch a rhythm, almost a song in my own breath. I'm alone here in Brooklyn Heights, late ...
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