#AmericanWriters
I gotta buy me a new girdle. (I’ll buy you one) O.K.
A big young bareheaded woman in an apron Her hair slicked back standing on the street One stockinged foot toeing
Little round moon up there—wait awhile—do not walk so quickly. I could sing you a song—: Wine clear the sky is and the stars no bigger than sparks! Wait for me and next winter we’ll bui...
The over-all picture is winter icy mountains in the background the return from the hunt it is toward evening from the left
The little sparrows hop ingenuously about the pavement quarreling with sharp voices
Flowers through the window lavender and yellow changed by white curtains— Smell of cleanliness— Sunshine of late afternoon—
From the Nativity which I have already celebrated the Babe in its Mother’s arms the Wise Men in their stolen splendor
It’s a strange courage you give me ancient star: Shine alone in the sunrise toward which you lend no part!
And yet one arrives somehow, finds himself loosening the hooks… her dress in a strange bedroom— feels the autumn
Summer! the painting is organized about a young reaper enjoying his noonday rest
The rose is obsolete but each petal ends in an edge, the double facet cementing the grooved columns of air—The edge
Each time it rings I think it is for me but it is not for me nor for anyone it merely
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 the field by force; the grass
In the flashes and black shadows of July the days, locked in each other’s a… seem still so that squirrels and colored bird…
All the complicated details of the attiring and the disattiring are completed! A liquid moon moves gently among