(1916)
#AmericanWriters
Winter is long in this climate and spring—a matter of a few days only,—a flower or two picked from mud or from among wet leaves or at best against treacherous
The rose is obsolete but each petal ends in an edge, the double facet cementing the grooved columns of air—The edge
Of asphodel, that greeny flower, like a buttercup upon its branching stem— save that it’s green and wooden— I come, my sweet,
I will teach you my towns… how to perform a funeral… for you have it over a tr… of artists— unless one should scour t…
The over-all picture is winter icy mountains in the background the return from the hunt it is toward evening from the left
You know there is not much that I desire, a few chrysanthemum… half lying on the grass, yellow and brown and white, the talk of a few people, the trees,
You sullen pig of a man you force me into the mud with your stinking ash-cart! Brother! —if we were rich
Flowers through the window lavender and yellow changed by white curtains— Smell of cleanliness— Sunshine of late afternoon—
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
Why do I write today? The beauty of the terrible faces of our nonentites stirs me to it:
At ten AM the young housewife moves about in negligee behind the wooden walls of her husband’s… I pass solitary in my car. Then again she comes to the curb
The dayseye hugging the earth in August, ha! Spring is gone down in purple, weeds stand high in the corn, the rainbeaten furrow
Rather notice, mon cher, that the moon is titled above the point of the steeple than that its color
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…
WHERE shall I find you— You, my grotesque fellows That I seek everywhere To make up my band? None, not one