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

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!

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

WHERE shall I find you— You, my grotesque fellows That I seek everywhere To make up my band? None, not one

Your thighs are appletrees whose blossoms touch the sky. Which sky? The sky where Watteau hung a lady’s slipper. Your knees

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

This particular thing, whether it be four pinches of four divers white powders cleverly compounded to cure surely, safely, pleasantly a painful twitching of the eyelids or say a pe...

Trundled from the strangeness of the sea —— a kind of heaven —— Ladies and Gentlemen!

My shoes as I lean unlacing them stand out upon flat worsted flowers under my feet.

It is a small plant delicately branched and tapering conically to a point, each branch and the peak a wire for

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,…

This is a slight stiff dance to a waking baby whose arms have been lying curled back above his head upon the pillow, making a flower—the eyes closed. Dead to the world! Waking is a...

beauty is a shell from the sea where she rules triumphant till love has had its way with her scallops and

The half-stripped trees struck by a wind together, bending all, the leaves flutter drily and refuse to let go