#AmericanWriters
I lie here thinking of you:—— the stain of love is upon the world! Yellow, yellow, yellow it eats into the leaves,
And yet one arrives somehow, finds himself loosening the hooks… her dress in a strange bedroom— feels the autumn
beauty is a shell from the sea where she rules triumphant till love has had its way with her scallops and
It’s all in the sound. A song. Seldom a song. It should be a song—made of particulars, wasps,
You sullen pig of a man you force me into the mud with your stinking ash-cart! Brother! —if we were rich
Her body is not so white as anemone petals nor so smooth—nor so remote a thing. It is a field of the wild carrot taking thefield by force; the grass
In this world of as fine a pair of breasts as ever I saw the fountain in Madison Square
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,
The green-blue ground is ruled with silver lines to say the sun is shining And on this moral sea of grass or dreams lie flowers
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…
The over-all picture is winter icy mountains in the background the return from the hunt it is toward evening from the left
It is a small plant delicately branched and tapering conically to a point, each branch and the peak a wire for
Pour the wine bridegroom where before you the bride is enthroned her hair loose at her temples a head of ripe wheat is on
These are the desolate, dark weeks when nature in its barrenness equals the stupidity of man. The year plunges into night
I gotta buy me a new girdle. (I’ll buy you one) O.K.