Come live with me, and be my love, and we will some new pleasures prove, Of golden sands, and crystal brooks, With silken lines and silver hooks
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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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Come live with me, and be my love, And we will some new pleasures prove Of golden sands, and crystal brooks, With silken lines, and silver hooks.
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Maud went to college. Sadie stayed at home. Sadie scraped life With a fine-tooth comb.
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... is merry glory. Is saltatory. Yet he grips his right of twisting free.
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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 know a dream is like a river, ever changing as it flows. And a dreamer's just a vessel that must follow where it goes. Trying to learn from what's behind you and never knowing what's in store makes each day a constant battle just to stay between the shores. And I will sail my vessel 'til the river runs dry. Like a bird upon the wind, these waters are my sky. I'll never reach my destination if I never try, So I will sail my vessel 'til the river runs dry. Too many times we stand aside and let the water slip away. To what we put off 'til tomorrow has now become today. So don't you sit upon the shore and say you're satisfied. Choose to chance the rapids and dare to dance the tides.
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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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To be in love Is to touch with a lighter hand. In yourself you stretch, you are well.
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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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Prepare to meet (sisters, brothers) the brash and terrible weather; the pains; the bruising; the collapse of bestials, idols.
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... Live!/and have your blooming in the noise of the whirlwind.
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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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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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We Sing sin. We Thin gin. We Jazz June. We Die soon.
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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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Come live with me, and be my love,And we will some new pleasures proveOf golden sands, and crystal brooks,With silken lines, and silver hooks.
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For I am rightful fellow of their band. My best allegiances are to the dead.
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A dryness is upon the house My father loved and tended.
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Poetry is life distilled.
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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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Oh, the humor! It's hysterical. And it's smart and goofy at the same time, kind of like a Neil Simon play or a Mel Brooks movie. I read it over and over again, and it changed me in the way of storytelling, seeing things differently.
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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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