#Activities #AmericanWriters #MoneyAndEconomics #SocialCommentaries
Gagarin says, in ecstasy, he could have gone on forever he floated ate and sang
A big young bareheaded woman in an apron Her hair slicked back standing on the street One stockinged foot toeing
Oh strong—ridged and deeply hollow… nose of mine! what will you not be… What tactless asses we are, you an… always indiscriminate, always unas… and now it is the souring flowers…
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…
Sorrow is my own yard where the new grass flames as it has flamed often before but not with the cold fire
Gagarin says, in ecstasy, he could have gone on forever he floated at and sang
Your thighs are appletrees whose blossoms touch the sky. Which sky? The sky where Watteau hung a lady’s slipper. Your knees
This plot of ground facing the waters of this inlet is dedicated to the living presenc… Emily Dickinson Wellcome who was born in England; married;
This quiet morning light reflected, how many times from grass and tress and clouds enters my north room touching the walls with
By the road to the contagious hosp… under the surge of the blue mottled clouds driven from the northeast—a cold wind. Beyond, the waste of broad, muddy fields
I have eaten the plums that were in the icebox and which
NOW that I have cooled to you Let there be gold of tarnished mas… Temples soothed by the sun to ruin That sleep utterly. Give me hand for the dances,
It’s all in the sound. A song. Seldom a song. It should be a song—made of particulars, wasps,
If when my wife is sleeping and the baby and Kathleen are sleeping and the sun is a flame-white disc in silken mists
My wife’s new pink slippers have gay pompons. There is not a spot or a stain on their satin toes or their sides… All night they lie together