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…

You say love is this, love is that… Poplar tassels, willow tendrils the wind and the rain comb, tinkle and drip, tinkle and drip— branches drifting apart. Hagh!

This is a schoolyard crowded with children of all ages near a village on a small stream

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

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

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…

Again I reply to the triple winds running chromatic fifths of derisi… outside my window: Play louder. You will not succeed. I am

It is cold. The white moon is up among her scattered stars— like the bare thighs of the Police Sergeant’s wife—among her five children . . .

The rose is obsolete but each petal ends in an edge, the double facet cementing the grooved columns of air—The edge

A middle-northern March, now as a… gusts from the South broken agains… but from under, as if a slow hand… it moves—not into April—into a sec… the old skin of wind-clear scales…

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…

The world begins again! Not wholly insufflated the blackbirds in the rain upon the dead topbranches of the living tree,

The sky has given over its bitterness. Out of the dark change all day long rain falls and falls

In this world of as fine a pair of breasts as ever I saw the fountain in Madison Square