Sadie was one of the livingest chits In all the land.
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Each body has its art, its precious prescribed Pose, that even in passion's droll contortions, waltzes,...
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God's Son went home. Among us it is whispered He cried the tears of men. Feeling, in fact, We have no need of peace.
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I swear to keep the dead upon my mind,/Disdain for all time to be overglad./Among spring flowers, under summer trees./By chilling autumn water...
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You are the beautiful half Of a golden hurt.
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After the baths and bowel-work, he was dead.
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She kisses her killed boy. And she is sorry. Chaos in windy grays through a red prairie.
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Each body has its art...
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A cry of bitter dead men who will never Attend a gentle maker of musical joy.
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He who was Goodness, Gentleness, And Dignity is free, Translates to public Love Old private charity.
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Maud went to college. Sadie stayed at home. Sadie scraped life With a fine-tooth comb.
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... Live!/and have your blooming in the noise of the whirlwind.
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He was born in Alabama. He was bred in Illinois. He was nothing but a Plain black boy.
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... is merry glory. Is saltatory. Yet he grips his right of twisting free.
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Prepare to meet (sisters, brothers) the brash and terrible weather; the pains; the bruising; the collapse of bestials, idols.
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We Sing sin. We Thin gin. We Jazz June. We Die soon.
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Hoping that, when the devil days of my hurt Drag out to their last dregs and I resume...
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For I am rightful fellow of their band. My best allegiances are to the dead.
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Poetry is life distilled.
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A dryness is upon the house My father loved and tended.
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I've stayed in the front yard all my life. I want a peek at the back...
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With the narcotic milk of peace for men Who find Thy beautiful center ...
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To be in love Is to touch with a lighter hand. In yourself you stretch, you are well.
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Cold an old predicament of the breath: Adroit, the shapely prefaces complete, Accept the university of death.
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By the time he had hurt his fourth white man Rudolph Reed was dead....
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'Men there were and men there be But never men so many Chief enough to marry me,' Thought the proud late Annie.
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Forgotten and stinking they stick in the can. And the vase breath's better and all, and all....
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'Remember When cruelty, metal, public, uncomplex,...
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She went in there to muse on being rid Of relative beneath the coffin lid. No one was by. She stuck her tongue out; slid.
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This morning men deliver wounds and death. They will deliver death and wounds tomorrow. And I doubt all. You. Or a violet.
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