#Americans #Modernism
Vast and grey, the sky is a simulacrum to all but him whose days are vast and grey and— In the tall, dried grasses
Paterson lies in the valley under… its spent waters forming the outli… lies on his right side, head near… of the waters filling his dreams!… his dreams walk about the city whe…
The crowd at the ball game is moved uniformly by a spirit of uselessness which delights them— all the exciting detail
Snow falls: years of anger following hours that float idly down — the blizzard drifts its weight
unless there is a new mind there cannot be a new line
The dayseye hugging the earth in August, ha! Spring is gone down in purple, weeds stand high in the corn, the rainbeaten furrow
SORROW is my own yard where the new grass flames as it has flamed often before but not with the cold fire
the back wings of the hospital where nothing will grow lie
Little round moon up there—wait awhile—do not walk so quickly. I could sing you a song—: Wine clear the sky is and the stars no bigger than sparks! Wait for me and next winter we’ll bui...
At ten AM the young housewife moves about in negligee behind the wooden walls of her husband’s… I pass solitary in my car. Then again she comes to the curb
Even in the time when as yet I had no certain knowledge of her She sprang from the nest, a young… Whose first flight circled the for… I know now how then she showed me
I gotta buy me a new girdle. (I’ll buy you one) O.K.
The grass is very green, my friend… and tousled, like the head of —— your grandson, yes? And the mounta… the mountain we climbed twenty years since for the last
I bought a dish mop— having no daughter— for they had twisted fine ribbons of shining copper about white twine
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 . . .
