MY people are gray, pigeon gray, dawn gray, storm gray… I call them beautiful, and I wonder where they are going.

SELL me a violin, mister, of old… Sell me a fiddle that has kissed d… Sell me dried wood that has ached… Sell me horsehair and rosin that h… Sell me something crushed in the h…

I SAW a telegram handed a two hundred pound man at a desk. And the little scrap of paper charged the air like a set of crystals in a chemist’s tube to a whispering pinch of salt. Cross ...

TOMB of a millionaire, A multi-millionaire, ladies and ge… Place of the dead where they spend… The usury of twenty-five thousand… For upkeep and flowers

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…

HERE in a cage the dollars come… To the click of a tube the dollars… And out of a mouth the dollars run… I finger the dollars, Paper and silver,

telling where the wind comes from open a story. Pencils telling where the wind goes end a story.

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...

I TELL them where the wind comes… Where the music goes when the fidd… Kids-I saw one with a proud chin,… And the moonline creeping white on… I have seen their heads in the sta…

This town belongs to the Dead, to the Dead and to the Wilderness. Back of the clamps on a fireproof door they hold the papers of the Dead in a house here And when two living men fall ou...

WHAT can we say of the night? The fog night, the moon night, the… There swept out of the sea a song. There swept out of the sea-torn wh… There came on the coast wind drive

I DREAMED one man stood agains… One man damned as a wrongheaded fo… One year and another he walked the… And a thousand shrugs and hoots Met him in the shoulders and mouth…

Not exactly the spinning circles of singing golden spiders, Not exactly this have they got at nor the meaning of flowers—O flowers, flowers slung by a dancing girl—in the saddest play t...

‘I KNEW a real man once,’ says… Did a man touch his lips to Agath… Agatha, far past forty in a splend…