(1921)
#AmericanWriters
A big young bareheaded woman in an apron Her hair slicked back standing on the street One stockinged foot toeing
Pour the wine bridegroom where before you the bride is enthroned her hair loose at her temples a head of ripe wheat is on
The world begins again! Not wholly insufflated the blackbirds in the rain upon the dead topbranches of the living tree,
a trouble archaically fettered to produce E Pluribus Unum an island
In this world of as fine a pair of breasts as ever I saw the fountain in Madison Square
In the flashes and black shadows of July the days, locked in each other’s a… seem still so that squirrels and colored bird…
You sullen pig of a man you force me into the mud with your stinking ash-cart! Brother! —if we were rich
The half-stripped trees struck by a wind together, bending all, the leaves flutter drily and refuse to let go
SORROW is my own yard where the new grass flames as it has flamed often before but not with the cold fire
I stopped the car to let the children down where the streets end in the sun at the marsh edge
Oh, black Persian cat! Was not your life already cursed with offspring? We took you for rest to that old Yankee farm, —so lonely
unless there is a new mind there cannot be a new line
According to Brueghel when Icarus fell it was spring a farmer was ploughing his field
the back wings of the hospital where nothing will grow lie
This particular thing, whether it be four pinches of four divers white powders cleverly compounded to cure surely, safely, pleasantly a painful twitching of the eyelids or say a pe...