oh god it’s wonderful to get out of bed and drink too much coffee and smoke too many cigarettes and love you so much

You just go on your nerve.

There should be so much more, not of orange, of words, of how terrible orange is and life.

There is a geography which holds its hands just so far from the breast and pushes you away, crying so.

That's not a run in your stocking, it's a hand on your leg.

I embraced a cloud but when I soared it rained.

My Heart I'm not going to cry all the time nor shall I laugh all the time, I don't prefer one "strain" to another. I'd have the immediacy of a bad movie, not just a sleeper, but also the big, overproduced first-run kind. I want to be at least as alive as the vulgar. And if some aficionado of my mess says "That's not like Frank!," all to the good! I don't wear brown and grey suits all the time, do I? No. I wear workshirts to the opera, often. I want my feet to be bare, I want my face to be shaven, and my heart--you can't plan on the heart, but the better part of it, my poetry, is open.