GIVE me hunger, O you gods that sit and give The world its orders. Give me hunger, pain and want, Shut me out with shame and failure

I SAW Man, the man-hunter, Hunting with a torch in one hand And a kerosene can in the other, Hunting with guns, ropes, shackles… I listened

I SHALL foot it Down the roadway in the dusk, Where shapes of hunger wander And the fugitives of pain go by. I shall foot it

They have painted and sung the women washing their hair, and the plaits and strands in the… and the golden combs and the combs of elephant tusks

THE DOUBLE moon, one on the hi… The sky moon of fire and the river… I saw them last night, a cradle mo… The river-I remember this like a… I know now it takes many many year…

AMONG the red guns, In the hearts of soldiers Running free blood In the long, long campaign: Dreams go on.

Hot gold runs a winding stream on… Yellow trickles in a fan figure, s… of dancing girls, performs blazing… one stream, forgets the past and r… The sea-mist green of the bowl’s b…

COME you, cartoonists, Hang on a strap with me here At seven o’clock in the morning On a Halsted street car. Take your pencils

On a mountain-side the real estate… Put up signs marking the city lots… A man whose father and mother were… Ran a goat farm half-way down the… He drove a covered wagon years ago…

They were calling certain styles o… And another manner of beard assume… Of “mutton chops,” “galways,” “fea… Metaphors such as these sprang fro… Sprang from sparrows finding scatt…

DEATH is stronger than all the g… the governments are men and men di… death laughs: Now you see 'em, now… Death is stronger than all proud m… snips proud men on the nose, throw…

I AM glad God saw Death And gave Death a job taking care… of living: When all the wheels in a clock are… the connections loose

SHE sits in the dust at the walls And makes cigars, Bending at the bench With fingers wage-anxious, Changing her sweat for the day’s p…

THERE was a late autumn cricket, And two smoldering mountain sunset… Under the valley roads of her eyes… There was a late autumn cricket, A hangover of summer song,

BROTHER, I am fire Surging under the ocean floor. I shall never meet you, brother— Not for years, anyhow; Maybe thousands of years, brother.