The earth is motionless And poised in space .... A great bird resting in its flight Between the alleys of the stars. It is the wind’s hour off ....

A late snow beats With cold white fists upon the ten… Hurriedly drawing blinds and shutt… Like tall old slatterns Pulling aprons about their heads.

Pythoness body—arching Over the night like an ecstasy— I feel your coils tightening... And the world’s lessening breath.

—Albert Parsons went to his death singing Annie Laurie; didn’t another have a rose in his coat–

Small towns Crawling out of their green shirts… Tubercular towns Coughing a little in the dawn... And the church...

Radiant notes piercing my narrow-chested room, beating down through my ceiling - smeared with unshapen belly-prints of dreams

Out of fiery contacts ... Rushing auras of steel Touching and whirled apart ... Out of the charged phallases Of iron leaping

I am of the wind... A wisp of the battering wind... I trail my fingers along the Alps And an avalanche falls in my wake.… I feel in my quivering length

Where to-day would a dainty buyer Imbibe your scented juice, Pale ruin with a heart of fire; Drain your succulence with her lip… Grown sapless from much use…

Old plant of Asia - Mutilated vine Holding earth’s leaping sap In every stem and shoot That lopped off, sprouts again -

The earth is motionless And poised in space ... A great bird resting in its flight Between the alleys of the stars. It is the wind’s hour off ...

Will you feast with me, American… But what have I that shall seem g… On my board are bitter apples And honey served on thorns, And in my flagons fluid iron,

How should they appraise you, who… Only time standing well off shall…

Oh, God did cunningly, there at B… Not mere tongues dividing, but sou… So that never again should men be… To fashion one infinite, towering…

Dour river Jaded with monotony of lights Diving off mast heads.... Lights mad with creating in a rive… Heave up, river...