(1916)
#Americans #Modernism #XXCentury
Ecstatic bird songs pound the hollow vastness of the sky with metallic clinkings— beating color up into it at a far edge,—beating it, beating…
WHERE shall I find you— You, my grotesque fellows That I seek everywhere To make up my band? None, not one
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…
A rumpled sheet Of brown paper About the length And apparent bulk Of a man was
Why do I write today? The beauty of the terrible faces of our nonentites stirs me to it:
Old age is a flight of small cheeping birds skimming bare trees
If when my wife is sleeping and the baby and Kathleen are sleeping and the sun is a flame-white disc in silken mists
As the cat climbed over the top of the jamcloset first the right
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
The brutal Lord of All will rip us from each other—leave the one to suffer here alone. No need belief in god or hell to postulate that much. The dance: hands touching, leaves touch...
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…
I stopped the car to let the children down where the streets end in the sun at the marsh edge
It is a satisfaction a joy to have one of those in the house. when she takes a bath
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 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…
