(1923)
#AmericanWriters
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!
It is cold. The white moon is up among her scattered stars— like the bare thighs of the Police Sergeant’s wife—among her five children . . .
Oh, black Persian cat! Was not your life already cursed with offspring? We took you for rest to that old Yankee farm, —so lonely
Snow falls: years of anger following hours that float idly down — the blizzard drifts its weight
In this world of as fine a pair of breasts as ever I saw the fountain in Madison Square
I bought a dish mop— having no daughter— for they had twisted fine ribbons of shining copper about white twine
Even in the time when as yet I had no certain knowledge of her She sprang from the nest, a young… Whose first flight circled the for… I know now how then she showed me
A big young bareheaded woman in an apron Her hair slicked back standing on the street One stockinged foot toeing
She sits with tears on her cheek her cheek on her hand
The May sun—whom all things imitate— that glues small leaves to the wooden trees shone from the sky
At ten AM the young housewife moves about in negligee behind the wooden walls of her husband’s… I pass solitary in my car. Then again she comes to the curb
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...
By the road to the contagious hosp… under the surge of the blue mottled clouds driven from the northeast—a cold wind. Beyond, the waste of broad, muddy fields
Beloved you are Caviar of Caviar Of all I love you best O my Japanese bird nest No herring from Norway
THE ARCHER is wake! The Swan is flying! Gold against blue An Arrow is lying. There is hunting in heaven—