(1923)
#AmericanWriters
Fools have big wombs. For the rest?'here is pennyroyal if one knows to use it. But time is only another liar, so go along the wall a little further: if blackberries prove bitter...
They tell me on the morrow I must… This winter eyrie for a southern f… And truth to tell I tremble with… At thought of such unheralded repr… E’er have I known December in a w…
"Sweet land" at last! out of sea— the Venusremembering wavelets rippling with laughter—
munching a plum on the street a paper bag of them in her hand They taste good to her They taste good
Ecstatic bird songs pound the hollow vastness of the sky with metallic clinkings— beating color up into it at a far edge,—beating it, beating…
The crowd at the ball game is moved uniformly by a spirit of uselessness which delights them— all the exciting detail
In the flashes and black shadows of July the days, locked in each other’s a… seem still so that squirrels and colored bird…
THERE is a bird in the poplars— It is the sun! The leaves are little yellow fish Swimming in the river; The bird skims above them—
Love is twain, it is not single, Gold and silver mixed to one, Passion 'tis and pain which ming… Glist’ring then for aye undone. Pain it is not; wondering pity
A big young bareheaded woman in an apron Her hair slicked back standing on the street One stockinged foot toeing
When the snow falls the flakes spi… that concerns them most intimately two and two to make a dance the mind dances with itself, taking you by the hand,
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 thefield by force; the grass
It was an icy day. We buried the cat, then took her box and set fire to it in the back yard.
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…