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…

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…

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

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

The May sun—whom all things imitate— that glues small leaves to the wooden trees shone from the sky

Paterson lies in the valley under… its spent waters forming the outli… lies on his right side, head near… of the waters filling his dreams!… his dreams walk about the city whe…

You sullen pig of a man you force me into the mud with your stinking ash-cart! Brother! —if we were rich

The dayseye hugging the earth in August, ha! Spring is gone down in purple, weeds stand high in the corn, the rainbeaten furrow

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

And yet one arrives somehow, finds himself loosening the hooks… her dress in a strange bedroom— feels the autumn

Let the snake wait under his weed and the writing be of words, slow and quick, sharp to strike, quiet to wait,

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

Not because of his eyes, the eyes of a bird, but because he is beaked, birdlike, to do an injury, has the turtle attracted you.