#Americans #Women New School York
There is no fear in taking the first step or the second or the third having a position
Words after all are syllables just and you put them in their place
At sunset from the top of the stai… the castle mallets wrenched from t… fell from ambush into flame flew i… above the stoneware a latch like m… the green; he stood waist high und…
Pieces clung to bedclothes. In th… Grass covered the dream of a serpe… dream turned into an opera. It was the opera that made the dre… in any country, could be Antarctic…
That there should never be air in a picture surprises me. It would seem to be only a picture of a certain kind, a portrait in p… or glue, somewhere a stickiness
Early night and the evening bus Passing with a new wreath around Its straggled head. The push cart Halts and fifty pineapple eyes sta… Into the invalid light. We move
sound opens sound shank of globe strings… something like images are here opening up avenues to view a dome a distant clang reaches the edific…
On this dry prepared path walk hea… This is not “dinner music.” This… heavy as eyelids. Beams are laid. The master cuts m… Sound lays the structure. Sound l…
Someone has remembered to dry the… they have taken the accident out o… Afterward lilies for supper; there the lines in front of the window are rubbed on the table of stone
That is why I am here not among the ibises. Why the permanent city parasol covers even me. It was the rains
After so many hours spent in the r… One wonders what the room will do. Whether speech or action will be f… And whether the weather will be fi… To begin.
Once more riding down to Venice o… the air free of misdemeanor, at re… Once again whiteness like the whit… Echoes of other poems...
i An opposing force nestles closer —to the four square of its joint the nimbus divides at an unfaded s… and the naughts are shuffled at th…
Since I’ve decided to revolutioni… since ” decided ”
I go separately The sweet knees of oxen have press… ghosts with ingots have burned the… it is the dungaree darkness with C… where the westerly winds