The rose is obsolete but each petal ends in an edge, the double facet cementing the grooved columns of air ——The edge

Why do I write today? The beauty of the terrible faces of our nonentites stirs me to it:

The rose is obsolete but each petal ends in an edge, the double facet cementing the grooved columns of air—The edge

By the road to the contagious hosp… under the surge of the blue mottled clouds driven from the northeast—a cold wind. Beyond, th… waste of broad, muddy fields

I must tell you this young tree whose round and firm trunk between the wet pavement and the gutter

the back wings of the hospital where nothing will grow lie

In this world of as fine a pair of breasts as ever I saw the fountain in Madison Square

ALL those treasures that lie in t… Mightier than the room of the star… All those treasures—I hold them i… Against the sides and the lid and… Crying that there is no sun come a…

These are the desolate, dark weeks when nature in its barrenness equals the stupidity of man. The year plunges into night

contend in a sea which the land pa… shielding them from the too—heavy… of an ungoverned ocean which when… tortures the biggest hulls, the be… to pit against its beatings, and s…

I stopped the car to let the children down where the streets end in the sun at the marsh edge

A day on the boulevards chosen out… student poverty! One best day out… Berket in high spirits—"Ha, orang… And he made to snatch an orange fr… Now so clever was the deception, s…

A three-day-long rain from the eas… an terminable talking, talking of no consequence—patter, patter,… Hand in hand little winds blow the thin streams aslant.

Oh strong—ridged and deeply hollow… nose of mine! what will you not be… What tactless asses we are, you an… always indiscriminate, always unas… and now it is the souring flowers…

The brutal Lord of All will rip us from each other—leave the one to suffer here alone. No need belief in god or hell to postulate that much. The dance: hands touching, leaves touch...