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…

Men with picked voices chant the n… of cities in a huge gallery: promi… that pull through descending stair… to a deep rumbling. The rubbing feet

Disciplined by the artist to go round and round in holiday gear a riotously gay rabble of

By the road to the contagious hosp… under the surge of the blue mottled clouds driven from the northeast—a cold wind. Beyond, the waste of broad, muddy fields

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

Let the snake wait under his weed and the writing be of words, slow and quick, sharp to strike, quiet to wait,

When I am alone I am happy. The air is cool. The sky is flecked and splashed and wound with color. The crimson phalloi of the sassafras leaves

SOFT as the bed in the earth Where a stone has lain— So soft, so smooth and so cool, Spring closes me in With her arms and her hands.

I stopped the car to let the children down where the streets end in the sun at the marsh edge

contend in a sea which the land pa… shielding them from the too—heavy… of an ungoverned ocean which when… tortures the biggest hulls, the be… to pit against its beatings, and s…

Her body is not so white as anemone petals nor so smooth—nor so remote a thing. It is a field of the wild carrot taking thefield by force; the grass

A big young bareheaded woman in an apron Her hair slicked back standing on the street One stockinged foot toeing

My wife’s new pink slippers have gay pompons. There is not a spot or a stain on their satin toes or their sides… All night they lie together

The over-all picture is winter icy mountains in the background the return from the hunt it is toward evening from the left

The murderer’s little daughter who is barely ten years old jerks her shoulders right and left so as to catch a glimpse of me