#Americans #Modernism #XXCentury
The crowd at the ball game is moved uniformly by a spirit of uselessness which delights them— all the exciting detail
Nude bodies like peeled logs sometimes give off a sweetest odor, man and woman under the trees in full excess matching the cushion of
When I am alone I am happy. The air is cool. The sky is flecked and splashed and wound with color. The crimson phalloi of the sassafras leaves
Constantly near you, I never in m… sixty-four years knew you so well… or half so well. We talked. you we… so lucid, so disengaged from all e… of place and time. We talked of ou…
Leaves are graygreen, the glass broken, bright green.
It was an icy day. We buried the cat, then took her box and set fire to it in the back yard.
SOFT as the bed in the earth Where a stone has lain— So soft, so smooth and so cool, Spring closes me in With her arms and her hands.
Again I reply to the triple winds running chromatic fifths of derisi… outside my window: Play louder. You will not succeed. I am
In this world of as fine a pair of breasts as ever I saw the fountain in Madison Square
This particular thing, whether it be four pinches of four divers white powders cleverly compounded to cure surely, safely, pleasantly a painful twitching of the eyelids or say a pe...
A rumpled sheet Of brown paper About the length And apparent bulk Of a man was
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…
You sullen pig of a man you force me into the mud with your stinking ash-cart! Brother! —if we were rich
A middle-northern March, now as a… gusts from the South broken agains… but from under, as if a slow hand… it moves—not into April—into a sec… the old skin of wind-clear scales…
The over-all picture is winter icy mountains in the background the return from the hunt it is toward evening from the left
