"we were very tired/merry"
i am going to kill you all because i can't stand a thing!
my hair is light as a feather and terribly distracting my cheeks, i can't push it back.
Spring and All, what is there about you that's not imagism? des imagistes
direct presentation of the thing.
.!
and then sonnets i have to read
I know I am but summer to your heart,
And not the full four seasons of the year;
all i want to do is write and vent and scream at my head to make the keyboard do the right thing, but instead i've mountains to read
how can i complain of being forced to do what i love to do? how can i do anything but laugh and sit on my knees when i'm assigned Milay and W.C.Williams and Hemingway all at once and have to stay on my toes and absorb?
but it's too cold and my stomach's rolling and i'm not alone, but i am
