I've got the sad sads all I want to do is fuck you.
So, that's what they wanted: lies. Beautiful lies. That's what they needed. People were fools. It was going to be easy for me.
Somebody was always controlling who got a chance and who didn't.
It seemed better to delay thinking.
I was born to hustle roses down the avenue of the dead.
You understand, we just don't fuck with truth.
I had come to the racetrack after the other two funerals and had won. There was something about funerals. It made you see things better. A funeral a day and I'd be rich.
It didn't pay to trust another human being. Humans didn't have it, whatever it took.
Living was easy - all you had to do was let go. And have a little money. Let the other men fight the wars, let the other men go to jail.
He, and all of us, are the victims of an attitude that has been growing in our land for nearly a decade - an attitude that says a man can choose the laws he must obey, that he can take the law into his own hands for a cause, that crime does not necessarily mean punishment.
Most poets are young simply because they have not been caught up. Show me an old poet, and I'll show you, more often than not, either a madman or a master... it's when you begin to lie to yourself in a poem in order simply to make a poem that you fail. That is why I do not rework poems.
Oh, you've got a sweet voice, baby, such a sad sad sweet voice, I'd like to fuck you, I thought.
I know it's impossible to explain this to you. I carry this terrible aching hell in my heart.
Learn that there will be hours, days and months ahead of feeling absolutely terrible and nothing can change that; neither new girlfriends, health professionals, changes of diet, dope, humility, or God.
I was in love again. I was in trouble.
I hope that I never become a vogue. A vogue is damned and doomed forever.
Sometimes things are just what they seem to be and that's all there is to it.
The lines on the page were pulled tight, like a man screaming, but not Joe, where are you? More like.
I will always carry you, inside, outside, on my fingertips, and at brain edges.
When Ginsburg is at the top of his game you might as well put down your toys and listen.
I got his ashes, she said, and I took them out to sea and I scattered his ashes and they didn't even look like ashes and the urn was weighted with green and blue pebbles...