(1923)
#AmericanWriters
In the flashes and black shadows of July the days, locked in each other’s a… seem still so that squirrels and colored bird…
The dayseye hugging the earth in August, ha! Spring is gone down in purple, weeds stand high in the corn, the rainbeaten furrow
In Brueghel’s great picture, The… the dancers go round, they go roun… around, the squeal and the blare a… tweedle of bagpipes, a bugle and f… tipping their bellies (round as th…
Flowers through the window lavender and yellow changed by white curtains— Smell of cleanliness— Sunshine of late afternoon—
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…
You sullen pig of a man you force me into the mud with your stinking ash-cart! Brother! —if we were rich
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…
Each time it rings I think it is for me but it is not for me nor for anyone it merely
If a man can say of his life or any moment of his life, There is nothing more to be desired! his st… becomes like that told in the famo… double sonnet—but without the
a trouble archaically fettered to produce E Pluribus Unum an island
I have had my dream—like others— and it has come to nothing, so tha… I remain now carelessly with feet planted on the ground and look up at the sky—
The rose is obsolete but each petal ends in an edge, the double facet cementing the grooved columns of air—The edge
Again I reply to the triple winds running chromatic fifths of derisi… outside my window: Play louder. You will not succeed. I am
the back wings of the hospital where nothing will grow lie
Take it out in vile whisky, take i… in lifting your skirts to show you… crotches; it is this that is inten… You are it. Your pleas will alway… You too will always go up with the…