Life and Existence

As Parmigianino did it, the right hand Bigger than the head, thrust at the viewer And swerving easily away, as though to protect What it advertises.

For this is action, this not being sure, this careless Preparing, sowing the seeds crooked in the furrow, Making ready to forget, and always coming back To the mooring of starting out, that day so long ago.

For this is action, this not being sure, this careless Preparing, sowing the seeds crooked in the furrow, Making ready to forget, and always coming back To the mooring of starting out, that day so long ago.

If anyone was looking for me I hid behind a tree and cried out “I am an orphan.” And here I am, the center of all beauty! writing these poems! Imagine!

“Sun, don’t go!” I was awake at last. “No, go I must, they’re calling me.” “Who are they?” Rising he said, “Some day you’ll know. They’re calling to you too.” Darkly he rose, and then I slept.

I wanted to be sure to reach you; though my ship was on the way it got caught in some moorings. I am always tying up and then deciding to depart.

Now I am quietly waiting for the catastrophe of my personality to seem beautiful again, and interesting, and modern.

Now I am quietly waiting for the catastrophe of my personality to seem beautiful again, and interesting, and modern.

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked, dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night.

How can I die alone. Where will I be then who am now alone, what groans so pathetically in this room where I am alone?

You were saved because you were the first. You were saved because you were the last. Alone. With others. On the right. On the left. Because it was raining. Because of the shade. Because the day was sunny.

Time has passed like a courier with urgent news. But that’s just our simile. The character’s invented, his haste is make-believe, his news inhuman.

The pebble is a perfect creature equal to itself mindful of its limits filled exactly with a pebbly meaning

God has pity on kindergarten children. He has less pity on school children. And on grownups he has no pity at all, he leaves them alone, and sometimes they must crawl on all fours in the burning sand to reach the first-aid station covered with blood.

Perhaps being old is having lighted rooms Inside your head, and people in them, acting. People you know, yet can’t quite name.

Perhaps being old is having lighted rooms Inside your head, and people in them, acting. People you know, yet can’t quite name.

Sexual intercourse began In nineteen sixty-three (Which was rather late for me)— Between the end of the Chatterley ban And the Beatles’ first LP.

Sexual intercourse began In nineteen sixty-three (Which was rather late for me)— Between the end of the Chatterley ban And the Beatles’ first LP.

Sexual intercourse began In nineteen sixty-three (Which was rather late for me)— Between the end of the Chatterley ban And the Beatles’ first LP.

Give me your arm, old toad; Help me down Cemetery Road.

Give me your arm, old toad; Help me down Cemetery Road.

If I were called in To construct a religion I should make use of water.

If I were called in To construct a religion I should make use of water.

Where can we live but days?