(1916)
#AmericanWriters
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
School is over. It is too hot to walk at ease. At ease in light frocks they walk the stre… to while the time away. They have grown tall. They hold
Each time it rings I think it is for me but it is not for me nor for anyone it merely
This horrible but superb painting the parable of the blind without a red in the composition shows a group of beggars leading
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…
The sky has given over its bitterness. Out of the dark change all day long rain falls and falls
Leaves are graygreen, the glass broken, bright green.
THE ARCHER is wake! The Swan is flying! Gold against blue An Arrow is lying. There is hunting in heaven—
Snow falls: years of anger following hours that float idly down — the blizzard drifts its weight
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…
When I am alone I am happy. The air is cool. The sky is flecked and splashed and wound with color. The crimson phalloi of the sassafras leaves
A three-day-long rain from the eas… an terminable talking, talking of no consequence—patter, patter,… Hand in hand little winds blow the thin streams aslant.
Mr T. bareheaded in a soiled undershirt his hair standing out on all sides
WHERE shall I find you— You, my grotesque fellows That I seek everywhere To make up my band? None, not one
It’s all in the sound. A song. Seldom a song. It should be a song—made of particulars, wasps,