#Americans #Modernism
the back wings of the hospital where nothing will grow lie
In the flashes and black shadows of July the days, locked in each other’s a… seem still so that squirrels and colored bird…
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…
Why do I write today? The beauty of the terrible faces of our nonentites stirs me to it:
Upon the table in their bowl in violent disarray of yellow sprays, green spikes of leaves, red pointed petals and curled heads of blue
Each time it rings I think it is for me but it is not for me nor for anyone it merely
Not because of his eyes, the eyes of a bird, but because he is beaked, birdlike, to do an injury, has the turtle attracted you.
beauty is a shell from the sea where she rules triumphant till love has had its way with her scallops and
O—EH—lee! La—la! Donna! Donna! Blue is the sky of Palermo; Blue is the little bay; And dost thou remember the orange…
The rose is obsolete but each petal ends in an edge, the double facet cementing the grooved columns of air ——The edge
Vast and grey, the sky is a simulacrum to all but him whose days are vast and grey and— In the tall, dried grasses
Among of green stiff old
Well, Lizzie Anderson! seventeen… the baby hard to find a father for… What will the good Father in Heav… to the local judge if he do not so… A little two-pointed smile and—pou…
A power-house in the shape of a red brick chair 90 feet high on the seat of which
This plot of ground facing the waters of this inlet is dedicated to the living presenc… Emily Dickinson Wellcome who was born in England; married;
