I am the least difficult of men. All I want is boundless love.
When I die, don’t come, I wouldn’t want a leafto turn away from the sun — it loves it there.There’s nothing so spiritual about being happybut you can’t miss a day of it, because it doesn’t last.
My eyes are vague blue, like the sky, and change all the time; they are indiscriminate but fleeting, entirely specific and disloyal, so that no one trusts me. I am always looking away. Or again at something after it has given me up.
I love you. I love you, but I’m turning to my versesand my heart is closinglike a fist.
Kerouac: You’re ruining American poetry, O’Hara.O’Hara: That’s more than you ever did for it, Kerouac
That’s not a run in your stocking, it’s a hand on your leg.
Oh! kangaroos, sequins, chocolate sodas! / You really are beautiful! Pearls, / harmonicas, jujubes, aspirins!
…but it is good to be several floors up in the dead of night wondering whether you are any good or not and the only decision you can make is that you did it…
I have been to lots of partiesand acted perfectly disgracefulbut I never actually collapsedoh Lana Turner we love you get up
I wouldn’t want to be faster or greener than now if you were with me O you were the best of all my days!
Andalways embrace things, people earthsky stars, as I do, freely and withthe appropriate sense of space.
you know we’ve all sinned a lot against scienceso we really ought to be as available as an appleon a boughpleasant thought fresh air free love cross-pollenizationoh oh god how I’d love to dream let alone sleep
Stars are out and there is seaenough beneath the glistening earthto bear me toward the futurewhich is not so dark. I see.
… and I’ll be happy here and happy there, fullof tea and tears
… my words are lovewhich willfully parades inits room, refusing to move.
I am moved by the multitudes of your intelligence and sometimes, returning, I become the sea— in love with your speed, your heaviness and breath.
willow trees, willow trees they remind me of DesdemonaI’m so damned literaryand at the same time the waters rushing past remindme of nothing
You are the sick prince of my cerise innovations and in your drowning caresses I walk the sea
I am stuck in traffic in a taxicabwhich is typicaland not just of modern life