suppose Life is an old man carrying flower… young death sits in a café smiling,a piece of money held betw… his thumb and first finger

i was considering how within night’s loose sack a star’s nibbling in- fin

Thy fingers make early flowers of all things. thy hair mostly the hours love: a smoothness which sings, saying

Doll’s boy ’s asleep under a stile he sees eight and twenty ladies in a line the first lady

my mind is a big hunk of irrevocable nothing… taste and smell and hearing and si… chipping with sharp fatal tools in an agony of sensual chisels i p…

when i have thought of you somewha… much and am become perfectly and simply Lustful….sense a gradual st… of beginning muscle,and what it wi… to me before shutting….understand

will suddenly trees leap from wint… the stabbing music of your white y… wounded by my arms’ bothness (say a twilight lifting the fragil… of new leaves’ voices,and sharp li…

there is a moon sole in the blue night       amorous of waters

even a pencil has fear to do the posed body luckily made a pen is dreadfully afraid of her of this of the smile’s two eyes….too, since the world’s but

Picasso you give us things which bulge:grunting lungs pumped full o… you make us shrill

O Distinct Lady of my unkempt adoration if I have made a fragile curtain song under the window of your soul

i will be     M o ving in the Street of her     bodyfee 1 inga ro undMe the tr…     lovely;muscles-sinke x p i r i…             uddeni

Where’s Madge then, Madge and her men? buried with Alice in her hair, (but if you ask the rain