A New Kind of Literary Pulse

RHOBERT wears a house, like a monstrous diver’s helmet, on his head. His legs are banty-bowed and shaky because as a child he had rickets. He is way down. Rods of the house like antennæ of a dead... [+]

Money burns the pocket, pocket hurts,Bootleggers in silken shirts,Ballooned, zooming Cadillacs,Whizzing, whizzing down the street-car tracks.SEVENTH STREET is a... [+]

Full moon rising on the waters of my heart,Lakes and moon and fires,Cloine tires,Holding her lips apart.Promises of slumber leaving shore to charm the moon,Miracle... [+]

Wind is in the cane. Come along.Cane leaves swaying, rusty with talk,Scratching choruses above the guinea’s squawk,Wind is in the cane. Come along.CARMA, in overalls... [+]

TURN me to my yellow leaves, I am better satisfied; There is something in me grieves— That was never born, and died. Let me be a scarlet flameOn a windy autumn morn, I who never had a... [+]

<p>Hold fast to dreams<br />For if dreams die<br />Life is a broken-winged bird<br />That cannot fly.<br /> <br />Hold fast to dreams<br />For when dreams go<br />Life is a barren field<br />Frozen with snow.</p>

Well, son, I’ll tell you:Life for me ain’t been no crystal stair.It’s had tacks in it,And splinters,And boards torn up,And places with no carpet on the floor—Bare.But all the... [+]

I, too, sing America.I am the darker brother.They send me to eat in the kitchenWhen company comes,But I laugh,And eat well,And grow strong.Tomorrow,I’ll be at the... [+]