#AmericanWriters
Upon the table in their bowl in violent disarray of yellow sprays, green spikes of leaves, red pointed petals and curled heads of blue
The whole process is a lie, unless, crowned by excess, It break forcefully, one way or another,
A three-day-long rain from the eas… an terminable talking, talking of no consequence—patter, patter,… Hand in hand little winds blow the thin streams aslant.
My townspeople, beyond in the grea… are many with whom it were far mor… profitable for me to live than her… These whirr about me calling, call… and for my own part I answer them,…
You know there is not much that I desire, a few chrysanthemum… half lying on the grass, yellow and brown and white, the talk of a few people, the trees,
Subtle, clever brain, wiser than… by what devious means do you contr… to remain idle? Teach me, O maste…
Snow falls: years of anger following hours that float idly down — the blizzard drifts its weight
A middle-northern March, now as a… gusts from the South broken agains… but from under, as if a slow hand… it moves—not into April—into a sec… the old skin of wind-clear scales…
I feel the caress of my own finger… on my own neck as I place my colla… and think pityingly of the kind women I have known.
If you had come away with me into another state we had been quiet together. But there the sun coming up out of the nothing beyond the lake…
At ten AM the young housewife moves about in negligee behind the wooden walls of her husband’s… I pass solitary in my car. Then again she comes to the curb
I lie here thinking of you:—— the stain of love is upon the world! Yellow, yellow, yellow it eats into the leaves,
Among of green stiff old
I stopped the car to let the children down where the streets end in the sun at the marsh edge
Summer! the painting is organized about a young reaper enjoying his noonday rest