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...

You sullen pig of a man you force me into the mud with your stinking ash-cart! Brother! —if we were rich

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

The whole process is a lie, unless, crowned by excess, It break forcefully, one way or another,

If a man can say of his life or any moment of his life, There is nothing more to be desired! his st… becomes like that told in the famo… double sonnet—but without the

Gagarin says, in ecstasy, he could have gone on forever he floated ate and sang

As the cat climbed over the top of the jamcloset first the right

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

O—EH—lee! La—la! Donna! Donna! Blue is the sky of Palermo; Blue is the little bay; And dost thou remember the orange…

I gotta buy me a new girdle. (I’ll buy you one) O.K.

a trouble archaically fettered to produce E Pluribus Unum an island

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

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

These are the desolate, dark weeks when nature in its barrenness equals the stupidity of man. The year plunges into night

This quiet morning light reflected, how many times from grass and tress and clouds enters my north room touching the walls with