#Americans #Modernism
They call me and I go. It is a frozen road past midnight, a dust of snow caught in the rigid wheeltracks.
ALL those treasures that lie in t… Mightier than the room of the star… All those treasures—I hold them i… Against the sides and the lid and… Crying that there is no sun come a…
The crowd at the ball game is moved uniformly by a spirit of uselessness which delights them— all the exciting detail
Mr T. bareheaded in a soiled undershirt his hair standing out on all sides
According to Brueghel when Icarus fell it was spring a farmer was ploughing his field
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,…
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.
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
You sullen pig of a man you force me into the mud with your stinking ash-cart! Brother! —if we were rich
It’s a strange courage you give me ancient star: Shine alone in the sunrise toward which you lend no part!
Oh, black Persian cat! Was not your life already cursed with offspring? We took you for rest to that old Yankee farm, —so lonely
Well, Lizzie Anderson! seventeen… the baby hard to find a father for… What will the good Father in Heav… to the local judge if he do not so… A little two-pointed smile and—pou…
It’s all in the sound. A song. Seldom a song. It should be a song—made of particulars, wasps,
SORROW is my own yard where the new grass flames as it has flamed often before but not with the cold fire
If when my wife is sleeping and the baby and Kathleen are sleeping and the sun is a flame-white disc in silken mists