#Americans #Modernism #FreeVerse
In the flashes and black shadows of July the days, locked in each other’s a… seem still so that squirrels and colored bird…
Mr T. bareheaded in a soiled undershirt his hair standing out on all sides
You sullen pig of a man you force me into the mud with your stinking ash-cart! Brother! —if we were rich
You Communists and Republicans! all you Germans and Frenchmen! you corpses and quickeners! The stars are about to melt and fall on you in tears.
The pure products of America go crazy— mountain folk from Kentucky or the ribbed north end of Jersey
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
I feel the caress of my own finger… on my own neck as I place my colla… and think pityingly of the kind women I have known.
Vast and grey, the sky is a simulacrum to all but him whose days are vast and grey and— In the tall, dried grasses
Well, Lizzie Anderson! seventeen… the baby hard to find a father for… What will the good Father in Heav… to the local judge if he do not so… A little two-pointed smile and—pou…
I have eaten the plums that were in the icebox and which
a burst of iris so that come down for breakfast we searched through the rooms for
According to Brueghel when Icarus fell it was spring a farmer was ploughing his field
I bought a dish mop— having no daughter— for they had twisted fine ribbons of shining copper about white twine
The birches are mad with green poi… the wood’s edge is burning with th… burning, seething—No, no, no. The birches are opening their leav… by one. Their delicate leaves unfo…
They tell me on the morrow I must… This winter eyrie for a southern f… And truth to tell I tremble with… At thought of such unheralded repr… E’er have I known December in a w…
