Of Being Numerous (George Oppen Poems)
'Whether, as the intensity of seeing increases, one's distance from Them, the people, does not also increase'I know, of course ...
'Whether, as the intensity of seeing increases, one's distance from Them, the people, does not also increase'I know, of course ...
Baudelaire considers you his brother,and Fielding calls out to you every few paragraphsas if to make sure you have not ...
My lemon-coloredwhisper-weight blousewith keyhole closureand sweetheart neckline is tuckedinto a pastel silhouette skirtwith side-slit ventsand triplicate pleatswhen I realize in ...
(Dedicated to a clown)Many days tread upon human animals,In gentle oceans hunger-sharks fly.Heads, beers glisten in coffee-houses.Girls' screams shred on ...
"...a frozen memory, like any photo, where nothing is missing, not even, and especially, nothingness..." -- Julio Cortázar, "Blow Up" ...
Turkeys, a pair, maybe more in the bushes sailing, low-flying across the highway oblivious, unaware filling my windshield, the horizon ...
A fall sky in slumber warming fan brush strokes, horsehair bristles, pushed across the fall tableau Deep burgundies and dark ...
A skin of frost on the ground, in the branches, the yellowed fields film of ice on the pond low ...
She sat beside me in the car a dark skirt a white, hand stitched blouse with bright Andean characters, dolls ...
Daily the cortege of crumpled defunct cars goes by by the lasagna- layered flatbed truckload: hardtop reverting to tar smudge, ...
Baudelaire considers you his brother, and Fielding calls out to you every few paragraphs as if to make sure you ...
Look at this storm, the idiot, pouring its heart out here, of all places, an industrial suburb on a Sunday, ...
Ophelia claims we're dead and gives me back all my Frank Zappa and the Mothers albums. I nearly claw out ...
From narrow provinces of fish and bread and tea, home of the long tides where the bay leaves the sea ...
Tracks of rain and light linger in the spongy greens of a nature whose flickering mountain-bulging nearer, ebbing back into ...
I I dream of journeys repeatedly: Of flying like a bat deep into a narrowing tunnel Of driving alone, without ...
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