The sky has given over its bitterness. Out of the dark change all day long rain falls and falls

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

If a man can say of his life or any moment of his life, There is nothing more to be desired! his st… becomes like that told in the famo… double sonnet—but without the

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...

You say love is this, love is that… Poplar tassels, willow tendrils the wind and the rain comb, tinkle and drip, tinkle and drip— branches drifting apart. Hagh!

My shoes as I lean unlacing them stand out upon flat worsted flowers under my feet.

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

To make two bold statements: There’s nothing sentimental about a machine, and: A poem is a small (or large) machine made out of words. When I say there’s nothing sentimental about a poe...

WHERE shall I find you— You, my grotesque fellows That I seek everywhere To make up my band? None, not one

Gagarin says, in ecstasy, he could have gone on forever he floated at and sang

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

It was an icy day. We buried the cat, then took her box and set fire to it in the back yard.

Your thighs are appletrees whose blossoms touch the sky. Which sky? The sky where Watteau hung a lady’s slipper. Your knees