I am the People, the MobI am the people-the mob-the crowd-the mass ( Read more... )

The doors of the morning must open.
The keys of the night are not thrown away.

I who have loved morning know its doors.
I who have loved night know its keys.

Cross-post from war_poetry:

Crimson Changes PeopleDid I see a crucifix in your eyes ( Read more... )

Prayers of SteelLay me on an anvil, O God ( Read more... )

Cross-post from war_poetry:

HoodlumsI am a hoodlum, you are a hoodlum, we and all of us are a world of hoodlums-maybe so ( Read more... )

Cross-post from war_poetry:

The Liars
(March, 1919)A liar goes in fine clothes ( Read more... )

An Electric Sign Goes DarkPoland, France, Judea ran in her veins ( Read more... )

I AM a copper wire slung in the air ( Read more... )

Under the Harvest Moon Under the harvest moon ( Read more... )

Four Preludes on Playthings of the Wind

“The past is a bucket of ashes.”1 ( Read more... )