IF I had a million lives to live and a million deaths to die in a million humdrum worlds, I’d like to change my name and have a new house number to go…

ONCE when I saw a cripple Gasping slowly his last days with… Looking from hollow eyes, calling… Desperately gesturing with wasted… In the dark and dust of a house do…

GRIEG being dead we may speak of… Grieg being dead we can talk about… Grieg being with Ibsen, Björnson… Grieg being dead does not care a h… Morning, Spring, Anitra’s Dance,

IT’S a lean car … a long-legged d… The feet of it eat the dirt of a r… Danny the driver dreams of it when… It is in Danny’s life and runs in…

I AM singing to you Soft as a man with a dead child sp… Hard as a man in handcuffs, Held where he cannot move: Under the sun

I REMEMBER the Chillicothe ba… And the shoulders of the Chillico… And the umpire’s voice was hoarse…

SLING me under the sea. Pack me down in the salt and wet. No farmer’s plow shall touch my bo… No Hamlet hold my jaws and speak How jokes are gone and empty is my…

THE SHEETS of night mist trave… I know why you came at sundown in… What was it we touched asking noth… How many times can death come and… In the oath of the sod, the lips t…

LET a joy keep you. Reach out your hands And take it when it runs by, As the Apache dancer Clutches his woman.

A STONE face higher than six ho… years gazing at the world seeming… A boy passes and throws a niggerhe… end of the nose from the stone fac… mud ball that spatters the right e…

SHAKE back your hair, O red-hea… Let go your laughter and keep your… Somewhere is a man looking for a r… Around and around go ten thousand… I have seen them hunting, hunting.

FIRST I would like to write for you a poem to be shouted in the teeth of a strong wind. Next I would like to write one for you to sit on a hill and read down the river valley on a late ...

My knees are loose-like, my feet want to sling their selves. I feel like tickling you under the chin-honey-and a-asking: Why Does a Chicken Cross the Road? When the hens are a-laying eg...

MOMUS is the name men give your… The brag of its tone, like a long… Finding a way mid mist on a shorel… Where gray rocks let the salt wate… Against horizons purple, silent.

THERE was a wild pigeon came oft… Gray wings that wrote their loops… There was a wild pigeon. There was a summer came year by ye… Rainy months and sunny and pigeons…