#Americans #Modernism
While she sits there with tears on her cheek her cheek on
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…
Warm sun, quiet air an old man sits in the doorway of a broken house— boards for windows
Leaves are graygreen, the glass broken, bright green.
Nude bodies like peeled logs sometimes give off a sweetest odor, man and woman under the trees in full excess matching the cushion of
It’s a strange courage you give me ancient star: Shine alone in the sunrise toward which you lend no part!
These are the desolate, dark weeks when nature in its barrenness equals the stupidity of man. The year plunges into night
munching a plum on the street a paper bag of them in her hand They taste good to her They taste good
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
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,…
They call me and I go. It is a frozen road past midnight, a dust of snow caught in the rigid wheeltracks.
Vast and grey, the sky is a simulacrum to all but him whose days are vast and grey and— In the tall, dried grasses
Again I reply to the triple winds running chromatic fifths of derisi… outside my window: Play louder. You will not succeed. I am
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 living quality of the man’s mind stands out and its covert assertions for art, art, art!