#AmericanWriters #Modernism
I have eaten the plums that were in the icebox and which
A power-house in the shape of a red brick chair 90 feet high on the seat of which
Sorrow is my own yard where the new grass flames as it has flamed often before but not with the cold fire
My shoes as I lean unlacing them stand out upon flat worsted flowers under my feet.
Even in the time when as yet I had no certain knowledge of her She sprang from the nest, a young… Whose first flight circled the for… I know now how then she showed me
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…
The over-all picture is winter icy mountains in the background the return from the hunt it is toward evening from the left
As the cat climbed over the top of the jamcloset first the right
The world begins again! Not wholly insufflated the blackbirds in the rain upon the dead topbranches of the living tree,
The dayseye hugging the earth in August, ha! Spring is gone down in purple, weeds stand high in the corn, the rainbeaten furrow
In this world of as fine a pair of breasts as ever I saw the fountain in Madison Square
Fools have big wombs. For the rest?—here is pennyroyal if one knows to use it. But time is only another liar, so go along the wall a little further: if blackberries prove bitter there’l...
Mr T. bareheaded in a soiled undershirt his hair standing out on all sides
There were some dirty plates and a glass of milk beside her on a small table near the rank, disheveled bed— Wrinkled and nearly blind
The rose is obsolete but each petal ends in an edge, the double facet cementing the grooved columns of air—The edge
