Cornhuskers. 1918.
#Americans
THERE are no handles upon a lang… Whereby men take hold of it And mark it with signs for its rem… It is a river, this language, Once in a thousand years
I HAVE lived in many half-worlds… I leaned at a deck rail watching a… I leaned so... and you fluttered s… Child of water, child of air, fin…
LET us sit by a hissing steam rad… And let us talk about milk wagon d… Let us keep our feet in wool slipp… Let us write of olden, golden days… A roustabout hunched on a coal wag…
WHEN the jury files in to deliver a verdict after weeks of direct and cross examinations, hot clashes of lawyers and cool decisions of the judge, There are points of high silence—twid...
JACK was a swarthy, swaggering s… He worked thirty years on the rail… and his hands were tougher than so… He married a tough woman and they… and the woman died and the childre…
IF we were such and so, the same… maybe we too would be slingers and… tumbling half over in the water mi… tumbling half over at the horse he… tumbling our purple numbers.
I SALUTED a nobody. I saw him in a looking-glass. He smiled—so did I. He crumpled the skin on his forehe… frowning—so did I.
GOOD-BY now to the streets and… locking hubs, The sun coming on the brass buckle… The muscles of the horses sliding… haunches,
LET us be honest; the lady was no… married a corporation lawyer who p… a Ziegfeld chorus. Before then she never took anybody… for her silk stockings out of what…
THE SEA at its worst drives a w… The same sea sometimes so easy and… So you were there when the white f… And the salt spatter and the rack… You were done fingering these, and…
A STORM of white petals, Buds throwing open baby fists Into hands of broad flowers. Red roses running upward, Clambering to the clutches of life
THROW roses on the sea where the… The roses speak to the sea, And the sea to the dead. Throw roses, O lovers– Let the leaves wash on the salt in…
On up the sea slant, On up the horizon, The ship limps. The bone of her nose fog-gray, The heart of her sea-strong,
Five geese deploy mysteriously. Onward proudly with flagstaffs, Hearses with silver bugles, Bushes of plum-blossoms dropping For ten mystic web-feet—
FIVE circus clowns dying this year, morning newspapers told their lives, how each one horizontal in a last gesture of hands arranged by an undertaker, shook thousands into convulsions o...