(1923)
#AmericanWriters
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
The living quality of the man’s mind stands out and its covert assertions for art, art, art!
You sullen pig of a man you force me into the mud with your stinking ash-cart! Brother! —if we were rich
A three-day-long rain from the eas… an terminable talking, talking of no consequence—patter, patter,… Hand in hand little winds blow the thin streams aslant.
The dayseye hugging the earth in August, ha! Spring is gone down in purple, weeds stand high in the corn, the rainbeaten furrow
It is a satisfaction a joy to have one of those in the house. when she takes a bath
The crowd at the ball game is moved uniformly by a spirit of uselessness which delights them— all the exciting detail
A big young bareheaded woman in an apron Her hair slicked back standing on the street One stockinged foot toeing
O—EH—lee! La—la! Donna! Donna! Blue is the sky of Palermo; Blue is the little bay; And dost thou remember the orange…
Not because of his eyes, the eyes of a bird, but because he is beaked, birdlike, to do an injury, has the turtle attracted you.
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.
From the Nativity which I have already celebrated the Babe in its Mother’s arms the Wise Men in their stolen splendor
I bought a dish mop— having no daughter— for they had twisted fine ribbons of shining copper about white twine
Of asphodel, that greeny flower, like a buttercup upon its branching stem— save that it’s green and wooden— I come, my sweet,
Fools have big wombs. For the rest?'here is pennyroyal if one knows to use it. But time is only another liar, so go along the wall a little further: if blackberries prove bitter...