America I used to be a communist when I was a kid and I'm not sorry.
It isn't enough for your heart to break because everybody's heart is broken now.
Which way will the sunflower turn surrounded by millions of suns?
What thoughts I have of you tonight, Walt Whit- man, for I walked down the sidestreets under the trees with a headache self-conscious looking at the full moon. In my hungry fatigue, and shopping for images, I went into the neon fruit supermarket, dreaming of your enumerations!
A poem is like a radio that can broadcast continuously for thousands of years.
How sick i am! that thought Always comes to me with horror. Is it this strange for everybody? But such fugitive feelings have always been my metier.