(1916)
#AmericanWriters
Each time it rings I think it is for me but it is not for me nor for anyone it merely
The little sparrows hop ingenuously about the pavement quarreling with sharp voices
Here it is spring again and I still a young man! I am late at my singing. The sparrow with the black rain on… has been at his cadenzas for two w…
Why do I write today? The beauty of the terrible faces of our nonentites stirs me to it:
I have eaten the plums that were in the icebox and which
Fools have big wombs. For the rest?'here is pennyroyal if one knows to use it. But time is only another liar, so go along the wall a little further: if blackberries prove bitter...
The whole process is a lie, unless, crowned by excess, It break forcefully, one way or another,
THE ARCHER is wake! The Swan is flying! Gold against blue An Arrow is lying. There is hunting in heaven—
Well, Lizzie Anderson! seventeen… the baby hard to find a father for… What will the good Father in Heav… to the local judge if he do not so… A little two-pointed smile and—pou…
All the complicated details of the attiring and the disattiring are completed! A liquid moon moves gently among
Nude bodies like peeled logs sometimes give off a sweetest odor, man and woman under the trees in full excess matching the cushion of
My townspeople, beyond in the grea… are many with whom it were far mor… profitable for me to live than her… These whirr about me calling, call… and for my own part I answer them,…
I have had my dream—like others— and it has come to nothing, so tha… I remain now carelessly with feet planted on the ground and look up at the sky—
Oh, black Persian cat! Was not your life already cursed with offspring? We took you for rest to that old Yankee farm, —so lonely
Subtle, clever brain, wiser than… by what devious means do you contr… to remain idle? Teach me, O maste…