O—EH—lee! La—la! Donna! Donna! Blue is the sky of Palermo; Blue is the little bay; And dost thou remember the orange…

Yellow, yellow, yellow, yellow! It is not a color. It is summer! It is the wind on a willow, the lap of waves, the shadow

I will teach you my towns… how to perform a funeral… for you have it over a tr… of artists— unless one should scour t…

Pour the wine bridegroom where before you the bride is enthroned her hair loose at her temples a head of ripe wheat is on

Beloved you are Caviar of Caviar Of all I love you best O my Japanese bird nest No herring from Norway

Nude bodies like peeled logs sometimes give off a sweetest odor, man and woman under the trees in full excess matching the cushion of

Of asphodel, that greeny flower, like a buttercup upon its branching stem– save that it’s green and wooden– I come, my sweet,

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

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

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

When the snow falls the flakes spi… that concerns them most intimately two and two to make a dance the mind dances with itself, taking you by the hand,

I gotta buy me a new girdle. (I’ll buy you one) O.K.

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,…