Let the snake wait under
his weed
and the writing
be of words, slow and quick, sharp
to strike, quiet to wait,
sleepless.
—through metaphor to reconcile
the people and the stones.
Compose. (No ideas
but in things) Invent!
Saxifrage is my flower that splits
the rocks.
by William Carlos Williams
I gotta
buy me a new
girdle.
(I’ll buy
you one) O.K.
(I wish
you’d wig-
gle that way
for me,
I’d be
a happy man)
I GOTTA
wig-
gle for this.
(You pig)
by William Carlos Williams
The half-stripped trees
struck by a wind together,
bending all,
the leaves flutter drily
and refuse to let go
or driven like hail
stream bitterly out to one side
and fall
where the salvias, hard carmine—
like no leaf that ever was—
edge the bare garden.
by William Carlos Williams
There they were
stuck
dog and bitch
halving the compass
Then when with his yip
they parted
oh how frolicsome
she grew before him
playful
dancing and
how disconsolate
he retreated
hang-dog
she following
through the shrubbery
by William Carlos Williams
And yet one arrives somehow,
finds himself loosening the hooks of
her dress
in a strange bedroom-
feels the autumn
dropping its silk and linen leaves
about her ankles.
The tawdry veined body emerges
twisted upon itself
like a winter wind . . . !
by William Carlos Williams
