Summer! the painting is organized about a young reaper enjoying his noonday rest

It was an icy day. We buried the cat, then took her box and set fire to it in the back yard.

Sooner or later we must come to the end of striving to re-establish the image the image of

First he said: It is the woman in us That makes us write– Let us acknowledge it– Men would be silent.

I bought a dish mop— having no daughter— for they had twisted fine ribbons of shining copper about white twine

An old willow with hollow branches slowly swayed his few high gright… and sang: Love is a young green willow shimmering at the bare wood’s edge…

Subtle, clever brain, wiser than… by what devious means do you contr… to remain idle? Teach me, O maste…

the back wings of the hospital where nothing will grow lie

According to Brueghel when Icarus fell it was spring a farmer was ploughing his field

The rose is obsolete but each petal ends in an edge, the double facet cementing the grooved columns of air ——The edge

Old age is a flight of small cheeping birds skimming bare trees

The coroner’s merry little childre… Have such twinkling brown eyes. Their father is not of gay men And their mother jocular in no wis… Yet the coroner’s merry little chi…

Sorrow is my own yard where the new grass flames as it has flamed often before but not with the cold fire

The brutal Lord of All will rip us from each other—leave the one to suffer here alone. No need belief in god or hell to postulate that much. The dance: hands touching, leaves touch...

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