(1916)
#AmericanWriters
A day on the boulevards chosen out… student poverty! One best day out… Berket in high spirits—"Ha, orang… And he made to snatch an orange fr… Now so clever was the deception, s…
It is a willow when summer is over… a willow by the river from which no leaf has fallen nor bitten by the sun turned orange or crimson.
The May sun—whom all things imitate— that glues small leaves to the wooden trees shone from the sky
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—
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…
To make two bold statements: There’s nothing sentimental about a machine, and: A poem is a small (or large) machine made out of words. When I say there’s nothing sentimental about a poe...
It was an icy day. We buried the cat, then took her box and set fire to it in the back yard.
There were some dirty plates and a glass of milk beside her on a small table near the rank, disheveled bed— Wrinkled and nearly blind
Sooner or later we must come to the end of striving to re-establish the image the image of
The coroner’s merry little childre… Have such twinkling brown eyes. Their father is not of gay men And their mother jocular in no wis… Yet the coroner’s merry little chi…
The rose is obsolete but each petal ends in an edge, the double facet cementing the grooved columns of air—The edge
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
I bought a dish mop— having no daughter— for they had twisted fine ribbons of shining copper about white twine
Summer! the painting is organized about a young reaper enjoying his noonday rest