(1921)
#AmericanWriters
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 crowd at the ball game is moved uniformly by a spirit of uselessness which delights them— all the exciting detail
If you had come away with me into another state we had been quiet together. But there the sun coming up out of the nothing beyond the lake…
The rose is obsolete but each petal ends in an edge, the double facet cementing the grooved columns of air ——The edge
In the flashes and black shadows of July the days, locked in each other’s a… seem still so that squirrels and colored bird…
Upon the table in their bowl in violent disarray of yellow sprays, green spikes of leaves, red pointed petals and curled heads of blue
Why go further? One might conceivably rectify the rhythm, study all out and arrive at the perfection of a tiger lily or a china doorknob. One might lift all out of the ruck, be a w...
It is a small plant delicately branched and tapering conically to a point, each branch and the peak a wire for
Summer! the painting is organized about a young reaper enjoying his noonday rest
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...
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...
The coroner’s merry little childre… Have such twinkling brown eyes. Their father is not of gay men And their mother jocular in no wis… Yet the coroner’s merry little chi…
Mr T. bareheaded in a soiled undershirt his hair standing out on all sides
Disciplined by the artist to go round and round in holiday gear a riotously gay rabble of
You sullen pig of a man you force me into the mud with your stinking ash-cart! Brother! —if we were rich