Ecstatic bird songs pound the hollow vastness of the sky with metallic clinkings— beating color up into it at a far edge,—beating it, beating…

Mr T. bareheaded in a soiled undershirt his hair standing out on all sides

A power-house in the shape of a red brick chair 90 feet high on the seat of which

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

I have eaten the plums that were in the icebox and which

Leaves are graygreen, the glass broken, bright green.

THERE is a bird in the poplars— It is the sun! The leaves are little yellow fish Swimming in the river; The bird skims above them—

School is over. It is too hot to walk at ease. At ease in light frocks they walk the stre… to while the time away. They have grown tall. They hold

The little sparrows hop ingenuously about the pavement quarreling with sharp voices

By constantly tormenting them with reminders of the lice in their children’s hair, the School Physician first brought their hatred down on him.

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

It is cold. The white moon is up among her scattered stars— like the bare thighs of the Police Sergeant’s wife—among her five children . . .

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!

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...