#AmericanWriters #Modernism
When I am alone I am happy. The air is cool. The sky is flecked and splashed and wound with color. The crimson phalloi of the sassafras leaves
Why pretend to remember the weather two years back? Why not? Listen close then repeat after others what they have just said and win a reputation for vivacity. Oh feed upon petals o...
The May sun—whom all things imitate— that glues small leaves to the wooden trees shone from the sky
unless there is a new mind there cannot be a new line
My wife’s new pink slippers have gay pompons. There is not a spot or a stain on their satin toes or their sides… All night they lie together
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.
My townspeople, beyond in the grea… are many with whom it were far mor… profitable for me to live than her… These whirr about me calling, call… and for my own part I answer them,…
NOW that I have cooled to you Let there be gold of tarnished mas… Temples soothed by the sun to ruin That sleep utterly. Give me hand for the dances,
the back wings of the hospital where nothing will grow lie
As the cat climbed over the top of the jamcloset first the right
A big young bareheaded woman in an apron Her hair slicked back standing on the street One stockinged foot toeing
The murderer’s little daughter who is barely ten years old jerks her shoulders right and left so as to catch a glimpse of me
I lie here thinking of you:—— the stain of love is upon the world! Yellow, yellow, yellow it eats into the leaves,
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.
The half-stripped trees struck by a wind together, bending all, the leaves flutter drily and refuse to let go
