(1923)
#AmericanWriters
When I am alone I am happy. The air is cool. The sky is flecked and splashed and wound with color. The crimson phalloi of the sassafras leaves
I have eaten the plums that were in the icebox and which
She sits with tears on her cheek her cheek on her hand
Her body is not so white as anemone petals nor so smooth—nor so remote a thing. It is a field of the wild carrot taking thefield by force; the grass
I will teach you my towns… how to perform a funeral… for you have it over a tr… of artists— unless one should scour t…
I stopped the car to let the children down where the streets end in the sun at the marsh edge
The little sparrows hop ingenuously about the pavement quarreling with sharp voices
Sooner or later we must come to the end of striving to re-establish the image the image of
The whole process is a lie, unless, crowned by excess, It break forcefully, one way or another,
All the complicated details of the attiring and the disattiring are completed! A liquid moon moves gently among
It was an icy day. We buried the cat, then took her box and set fire to it in the back yard.
You say love is this, love is that… Poplar tassels, willow tendrils the wind and the rain comb, tinkle and drip, tinkle and drip— branches drifting apart. Hagh!
When trouble comes your soul to tr… You love the friend who just “stan… Perhaps there’s nothing he can do’ The thing is strictly up to you; For there are troubles all your ow…
You sullen pig of a man you force me into the mud with your stinking ash-cart! Brother! —if we were rich
O—EH—lee! La—la! Donna! Donna! Blue is the sky of Palermo; Blue is the little bay; And dost thou remember the orange…