#AmericanWriters
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...
Pour the wine bridegroom where before you the bride is enthroned her hair loose at her temples a head of ripe wheat is on
While she sits there with tears on her cheek her cheek on
Mr T. bareheaded in a soiled undershirt his hair standing out on all sides
Warm sun, quiet air an old man sits in the doorway of a broken house— boards for windows
You sullen pig of a man you force me into the mud with your stinking ash-cart! Brother! —if we were rich
WHERE shall I find you— You, my grotesque fellows That I seek everywhere To make up my band? None, not one
Leaves are graygreen, the glass broken, bright green.
Nude bodies like peeled logs sometimes give off a sweetest odor, man and woman under the trees in full excess matching the cushion of
Old age is a flight of small cheeping birds skimming bare trees
A day on the boulevards chosen out… student poverty! One best day out… Berket in high spirits—"Ha, orang… And he made to snatch an orange fr… Now so clever was the deception, s…
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
One leaves his leaves at home beomg a mullen and sends up a ligh… to peer from: I will have my way, yellow—A mast with a lantern, ten fifty, a hundred, smaller and smal…
Tho’ I’m no Catholic I listen hard when the bells in the yellow—brick tower of their new church ring down the leaves
My townspeople, beyond in the grea… are many with whom it were far mor… profitable for me to live than her… These whirr about me calling, call… and for my own part I answer them,…