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 the field by force; the grass

The whole process is a lie, unless, crowned by excess, It break forcefully, one way or another,

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...

This is a schoolyard crowded with children of all ages near a village on a small stream

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—

Let the snake wait under his weed and the writing be of words, slow and quick, sharp to strike, quiet to wait,

Each time it rings I think it is for me but it is not for me nor for anyone it merely

You Communists and Republicans! all you Germans and Frenchmen! you corpses and quickeners! The stars are about to melt and fall on you in tears.

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

It’s all in the sound. A song. Seldom a song. It should be a song—made of particulars, wasps,

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...

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

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

beauty is a shell from the sea where she rules triumphant till love has had its way with her scallops and