#AmericanWriters
I stopped the car to let the children down where the streets end in the sun at the marsh edge
The pure products of America go crazy— mountain folk from Kentucky or the ribbed north end of Jersey
Again I reply to the triple winds running chromatic fifths of derisi… outside my window: Play louder. You will not succeed. I am
The over-all picture is winter icy mountains in the background the return from the hunt it is toward evening from the left
Of asphodel, that greeny flower, like a buttercup upon its branching stem– save that it’s green and wooden– I come, my sweet,
munching a plum on the street a paper bag of them in her hand They taste good to her They taste good
When the snow falls the flakes spi… that concerns them most intimately two and two to make a dance the mind dances with itself, taking you by the hand,
ALL those treasures that lie in t… Mightier than the room of the star… All those treasures—I hold them i… Against the sides and the lid and… Crying that there is no sun come a…
Oh strong—ridged and deeply hollow… nose of mine! what will you not be… What tactless asses we are, you an… always indiscriminate, always unas… and now it is the souring flowers…
The crowd at the ball game is moved uniformly by a spirit of uselessness which delights them— all the exciting detail
It’s a strange courage you give me ancient star: Shine alone in the sunrise toward which you lend no part!
Sooner or later we must come to the end of striving to re-establish the image the image of
If when my wife is sleeping and the baby and Kathleen are sleeping and the sun is a flame-white disc in silken mists
NOW that I have cooled to you Let there be gold of tarnished mas… Temples soothed by the sun to ruin That sleep utterly. Give me hand for the dances,
unless there is a new mind there cannot be a new line