Big buttons, cornets : the advance.
A stimulant for an old beast.
Filling her compact & delicious body.
'The prisoner of Shark Island' with Paul Muni.
There were strange gatherings.
The secret of the wisdom.
The glories of the world.
The greens of the Ganges delta.
Snow line. There sat down, once.
My mother has your shotgun.
Three around the Old Gentleman. His malice. The Russian grin. Goodbye, sir.
Tell it to the forest fire.
April Fool's Day, or, St. Mary of Egypt.
He yelled at me in Greek.
He lay in the middle of the world.
In a state of chortle sin.
Henry's Meditation in the Kremlin.
Room 231 : the forth week.
Three 'coons come at his garbage.
She mentioned 'worthless'.
It was the blue & plain ones.
Or Amy Vladeck or Riva Freifeld.
Through the forest, followed.
Disturbed, when Henry's love.
He wondered : Do I love?.
Fresh-shaven, past months.
He published his girl's bottom.
Dapples my floor the eastern sun.
Behold I bring you tidings.
Again, his friend's death.
A hemorrhage of his left ear.
Green grieves the prince.
One was down on the Mass.
These lovely motions of the air.
Henry's mind grew blacker.
Flagrant his young male beauty.
I can't get him out of my mind.
I have strained everything.
Your face broods from my table.
Buoyant, chockful of stories.
There is a swivelly grace.
There is a kind of undetermined hair.
The doomed young envy the old.
If all must hurt at once.
I see now all these deaths.
I am interested & amazed.
Henry, weak at keyboard music.
His mother wrote good news.
Mr. Blackmur, what are the holy cities.
With relief to public action.
Which brandished goddess.
Fortune gave him to know.
I poured myself out thro' my tips.
It was a difficult crime.
Pereant qui ante nos nostra dixerunt.
They laid their hands on Henry.
There are voices, voices.
They work not well on all.
When in the flashlights' flare.
Henry's Programme for God.
Father being the loneliest word.
Calamity Jane lies very still.
Flaps, on winter's first day.
Mrs. Thomas, Mrs. Harris.
My twin, the nameless one.
Scarlatti spurts his wit.
Tides of dreadful creation.
Restless, as once in love.
You couldn't bear to grow old.
I don't know one damned butterfly.
It's lovely just here now.
Shrouded the great stars.
A best word across a void.
The Irish sky is raining.
Cold & golden ... The forest tramped.
The Danish priest has horns.
An Instructions to critics.
The Irish sunshine is lovely but.
My mother threw a tantrum.
O land of Connolly & Pearse.
Churchill was ever-active.
An elegy for W.C.W., the lovely man.
My right food being colder.
Freud was some wrong about dreams.
The twiss is a tidy bundle.
In his complex investigations.
The mind is incalculable.
The secret is not praise.
Fan-mail from foreign countries.
Another directory form to be corrected.
Henry's very rich American friends.
The great Bosch in the Prado.
Animal Henry sat reading.
These massacres of the superior peoples.
The only people in the world.
Slattery's, in Ballsbridge.
Henry's pride in his house.
In sleep, of a heart attack.
The universe has gifted me.
Chilled in this Irish pub.
At a gallop through his gat.ss.
Drum Henry out, called some.
From the French hospital in New York, 901.