Take it out in vile whisky, take i… in lifting your skirts to show you… crotches; it is this that is inten… You are it. Your pleas will alway… You too will always go up with the…

Here it is spring again and I still a young man! I am late at my singing. The sparrow with the black rain on… has been at his cadenzas for two w…

The whole process is a lie, unless, crowned by excess, It break forcefully, one way or another,

THERE is a bird in the poplars— It is the sun! The leaves are little yellow fish Swimming in the river; The bird skims above them—

Leaves are graygreen, the glass broken, bright green.

It was an icy day. We buried the cat, then took her box and set fire to it in the back yard.

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

Winter is long in this climate and spring—a matter of a few days only,—a flower or two picked from mud or from among wet leaves or at best against treacherous

A rumpled sheet Of brown paper About the length And apparent bulk Of a man was

The grass is very green, my friend… and tousled, like the head of —— your grandson, yes? And the mounta… the mountain we climbed twenty years since for the last

The world begins again! Not wholly insufflated the blackbirds in the rain upon the dead topbranches of the living tree,

My shoes as I lean unlacing them stand out upon flat worsted flowers under my feet.

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…

Her body is not so white as anemone petals nor so smooth ——nor so remote a thing. It is a field of the wild carrot taking the field by force; the grass

This particular thing, whether it be four pinches of four divers white powders cleverly compounded to cure surely, safely, pleasantly a painful twitching of the eyelids or say a pe...