(1923)
#AmericanWriters
Again I reply to the triple winds running chromatic fifths of derisi… outside my window: Play louder. You will not succeed. I am
The murderer’s little daughter who is barely ten years old jerks her shoulders right and left so as to catch a glimpse of me
It is cold. The white moon is up among her scattered stars— like the bare thighs of the Police Sergeant’s wife—among her five children . . .
This is a schoolyard crowded with children of all ages near a village on a small stream
The world begins again! Not wholly insufflated the blackbirds in the rain upon the dead topbranches of the living tree,
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.
Tracks of rain and light linger in the spongy greens of a nature whos… flickering mountain—bulging nearer… ebbing back into the sun hollowing itself away to hold a la…
You sullen pig of a man you force me into the mud with your stinking ash-cart! Brother! —if we were rich
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 the field by force; the grass
The May sun—whom all things imitate— that glues small leaves to the wooden trees shone from the sky
Gagarin says, in ecstasy, he could have gone on forever he floated at and sang
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…
Little round moon up there—wait awhile—do not walk so quickly. I could sing you a song—: Wine clear the sky is and the stars no bigger than sparks! Wait for me and next winter we’ll bui...
Old age is a flight of small cheeping birds skimming bare trees
This particular thing, whether it be four pinches of four divers white powders cleverly compounded to cure surely, safely, pleasantly a painful twitching of the eyelids or say a pe...