The May sun—whom all things imitate— that glues small leaves to the wooden trees shone from the sky

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 there’l...

There were some dirty plates and a glass of milk beside her on a small table near the rank, disheveled bed— Wrinkled and nearly blind

"Sweet land" at last! out of sea— the Venusremembering wavelets rippling with laughter—

Vast and grey, the sky is a simulacrum to all but him whose days are vast and grey and— In the tall, dried grasses

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.

Again I reply to the triple winds running chromatic fifths of derisi… outside my window: Play louder. You will not succeed. I am

My wife’s new pink slippers have gay pompons. There is not a spot or a stain on their satin toes or their sides… All night they lie together

I have discovered that most of the beauties of travel are due to the strange hours we keep to see t… the domes of the Church of the Paulist Fathers in Weehawken

This is a slight stiff dance to a waking baby whose arms have been lying curled back above his head upon the pillow, making a flower—the eyes closed. Dead to the world! Waking is a...

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