I am not a painter, I am a poet. Why? I think I would rather be a painter, but I am not. Well, for instance, Mike Goldberg is starting a painting. I drop in.

The eager note on my door said “C… call when you get in!" so I quickl… a few tangerines into my overnight… straightened my eyelids and should… headed straight for the door. It…

You do not always know what I am… Last night in the warm spring air… blazing my tirade against someone… interest me, it was love for you that set m…

I know so much about things, I accept so much, it’s like vomiting. And I am nourished by the

The Sun woke me this morning loud and clear, saying “Hey! I’ve been trying to wake you up for fifteen minutes. Don’t be so rude, you are only the second poet I’ve ever cho…

Hate is only one of many responses true, hurt and hate go hand in han… but why be afraid of hate, it is o… think of filth, is it really aweso… neither is hate

Is it dirty does it look dirty that’s what you think of in the ci… does it just seem dirty that’s what you think of in the ci…

It’s my lunch hour, so I go for a walk among the hum-colored cabs. First, down the sidewalk where laborers feed their dirty glistening torsos sandwiches

Now that our hero has come back to… in his white pants and we know his… trembling like a flag under fire, we see the calm cold river is supp… our forces, the beautiful history.

Perhaps it is to avoid some great… as in a Restoration tragedy the he… O for a long sound sleep and so fo… that one flies, soaring above the… veering upward from the pavement a…

Mothers of America let your kids go to the movies get them out of the house so they… know what you’re up to it’s true that fresh air is good f…

The opals hiding your lids as you sleep, as you ride ponies mysteriously, spring to bloom like the blue flowers of autumn each nine o’clock. And curls

Have you forgotten what we were li… when we were still first rate and the day came fat with an apple… it’s no use worrying about Time but we did have a few tricks up ou…

It is almost three I sit at the marble top sorting poems, miserable the little lamp glows feebly I don’t glow at all