It is cold. The white moon is up among her scattered stars— like the bare thighs of the Police Sergeant’s wife—among her five children . . .

Upon the table in their bowl in violent disarray of yellow sprays, green spikes of leaves, red pointed petals and curled heads of blue

A big young bareheaded woman in an apron Her hair slicked back standing on the street One stockinged foot toeing

Paterson lies in the valley under… its spent waters forming the outli… lies on his right side, head near… of the waters filling his dreams!… his dreams walk about the city whe…

Again I reply to the triple winds running chromatic fifths of derisi… outside my window: Play louder. You will not succeed. I am

By the road to the contagious hosp… under the surge of the blue mottled clouds driven from the northeast—a cold wind. Beyond, th… waste of broad, muddy fields

They call me and I go. It is a frozen road past midnight, a dust of snow caught in the rigid wheeltracks.

In the flashes and black shadows of July the days, locked in each other’s a… seem still so that squirrels and colored bird…

The crowd at the ball game is moved uniformly by a spirit of uselessness which delights them— all the exciting detail

Why pretend to remember the weather two years back? Why not? Listen close then repeat after others what they have just said and win a reputation for vivacity. Oh feed upon petals o...

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…

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…

Why go further? One might conceivably rectify the rhythm, study all out and arrive at the perfection of a tiger lily or a china doorknob. One might lift all out of the ruck, be a worthy...

I gotta buy me a new girdle. (I’ll buy you one) O.K.

The dayseye hugging the earth in August, ha! Spring is gone down in purple, weeds stand high in the corn, the rainbeaten furrow