If you had come away with me into another state we had been quiet together. But there the sun coming up out of the nothing beyond the lake…

I gotta buy me a new girdle. (I’ll buy you one) O.K.

Your thighs are appletrees whose blossoms touch the sky. Which sky? The sky where Watteau hung a lady’s slipper. Your knees

Each time it rings I think it is for me but it is not for me nor for anyone it merely

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

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

It is a willow when summer is over… a willow by the river from which no leaf has fallen nor bitten by the sun turned orange or crimson.

While she sits there with tears on her cheek her cheek on

A power-house in the shape of a red brick chair 90 feet high on the seat of which

Sooner or later we must come to the end of striving to re-establish the image the image of

The little sparrows hop ingenuously about the pavement quarreling with sharp voices

THE ARCHER is wake! The Swan is flying! Gold against blue An Arrow is lying. There is hunting in heaven—

Tho’ I’m no Catholic I listen hard when the bells in the yellow—brick tower of their new church ring down the leaves

Gagarin says, in ecstasy, he could have gone on forever he floated ate and sang