The City Is A Garment (Michael Burch Poem)
A rhinestone skein, a jeweled brocade of light,- the city is a garment stretched so thin her festive colors bleed ...
A rhinestone skein, a jeweled brocade of light,- the city is a garment stretched so thin her festive colors bleed ...
Darling, you think it's love, it's just a midnight journey. Best are the dales and rivers removed by force, as ...
I was but what you'd brush with your palm, what your leaning brow would hunch to in evening's raven-black hush. ...
ANOTHER METHOD OF MAKING WALNUT CATSUP And this is a very small cookbook for Trout Fishing in America as if ...
BY QUEVEDO REDIVIVUS SUGGESTED BY THE COMPOSITION SO ENTITLED BY THE AUTHOR OF 'WAT TYLER' 'A Daniel come to judgment! ...
I am poor brother Lippo, by your leave! You need not clap your torches to my face. Zooks, what's to ...
I Oh Galuppi, Baldassaro, this is very sad to find! I can hardly misconceive you; it would prove me deaf ...
The moth's kiss, first! Kiss me as if you made believe You were not sure, this eve, How my face, ...
ANCIEN REGIME I Now that I, tying thy glass mask tightly, May gaze through these faint smokes curling whitely, As ...
In the cold, cold parlor my mother laid out Arthur beneath the chromographs: Edward, Prince of Wales, with Princess Alexandra, ...
The lamplit page is turned, the dream forgotten; The music changes tone, you wake, remember Deep worlds you lived before,-deep ...
I. Moonlight silvers the tops of trees, Moonlight whitens the lilac shadowed wall And through the evening fall, Clearly, as ...
Fanfare of northwest wind, a bluejay wind announces autumn, and the equinox rolls back blue bays to a far afternoon. ...
You know how it is waking from a dream certain you can fly and that someone, long gone, returned and ...
On a little hill amid fertile fields lies a small cemetery, a Jewish cemetery behind a rusty gate, hidden by ...
Through Alpine meadows soft-suffused With rain, where thick the crocus blows, Past the dark forges long disused, The mule-track from ...
AULD chuckie Reekie's 1 sair distrest, Down droops her ance weel burnish'd crest, Nae joy her bonie buskit nest Can ...
WHEN first my brave Johnie lad came to this town, He had a blue bonnet that wanted the crown; But ...
Little Fly Thy summers play, My thoughtless hand Has brush'd away. Am not I A fly like thee? Or art ...
good weather is like good women- it doesn't always happen and when it does it doesn't always last. man is ...
death wants more death, and its webs are full: I remember my father's garage, how child-like I would brush the ...
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