“So the great affair is over but whoever would have guessed it would leave us all so vacant and so deeply unimpressed It's like our visit to the moon or to that other star I guess you go for nothing if you really want to go that far. It's like our visit to the moon or to that other star I guess you go for nothing if you really want to go that far.”

“Yeah I missed you since the place got wrecked By the winds of change and the weeds of sex looks like freedom but it feels like death it's something in between, I guess it's closing time.”

“I must go now.""Stay up the night with me! We'll go to the fish market. There are great noble monsters packed in ice. There are turtles, live ones, for famous restaurants. We'll rescue one and write messages on his shell and put him in the sea, Shell, seashell. Or we'll go to the vegetable market. They've got red-net bags full of onions that look like huge pearls. Or we'll go down to Forty-second Street and see the movies and buy a mimeographed bulletin of jobs we can get in Pakistan --""I work tomorrow.""Which has nothing to do with it.""But I'd better go now.""I know this is unheard in America, but I'll walk you home.""I live on Twenty-third Street.""Exactly what I'd hoped. It's over a hundred blocks.”

“It doesn't matter what you do because it's going to happen anyway.”

“this is not a Quote it's a poem. "A Thousand Kisses Deep"The ponies run, the girls are young,The odds are there to beat.You win a while, and then it’s done –Your little winning streak.And summoned now to dealWith your invincible defeat,You live your life as if it’s real,A Thousand Kisses Deep.I’m turning tricks, I’m getting fixed,I’m back on Boogie Street.You lose your grip, and then you slipInto the Masterpiece.And maybe I had miles to drive,And promises to keep:You ditch it all to stay alive,A Thousand Kisses Deep.And sometimes when the night is slow,The wretched and the meek,We gather up our hearts and go,A Thousand Kisses Deep.Confined to sex, we pressed againstThe limits of the sea:I saw there were no oceans leftFor scavengers like me.I made it to the forward deck.I blessed our remnant fleet –And then consented to be wrecked,A Thousand Kisses Deep.I’m turning tricks, I’m getting fixed,I’m back on Boogie Street.I guess they won’t exchange the giftsThat you were meant to keep.And quiet is the thought of you,The file on you complete,Except what we forgot to do,A Thousand Kisses Deep.And sometimes when the night is slow,The wretched and the meek,We gather up our hearts and go,A Thousand Kisses Deep.The ponies run, the girls are young,The odds are there to beat . . .”

“Well I see you there with the rose in your teethOne more thin gypsy thiefYes, and thanks, for the trouble you took from her eyesI thought it was there for good so I never tried.And Jane came by with a lock of your hairShe said that you gave it to herThat night that you planned to go clear”

“A Kite is a VictimA kite is a victim you are sure of.You love it because it pullsgentle enough to call you master,strong enough to call you fool;because it liveslike a desperate trained falconin the high sweet air,and you can always haul it downto tame it in your drawer.A kite is a fish you have already caughtin a pool where no fish come,so you play him carefully and long,and hope he won't give up,or the wind die down.A kite is the last poem you've writtenso you give it to the wind,but you don't let it gountil someone finds yousomething else to do.A kite is a contract of glorythat must be made with the sun,so you make friends with the fieldthe river and the wind,then you pray the whole cold night before,under the travelling cordless moon,to make you worthy and lyric and pure.GiftYou tell me that silenceis nearer to peace than poemsbut if for my giftI brought you silence(for I know silence)you would sayThis is not silencethis is another poemand you would hand it back to meThere are some menThere are some menwho should have mountainsto bear their names through timeGrave markers are not high enoughor greenand sons go far away to lose the fisttheir father’s hand will always seemI had a friend he lived and diedin mighty silence and with dignityleft no book son or lover to mourn.Nor is this a mourning songbut only a naming of this mountainon which I walkfragrant, dark and softly whiteunder the pale of mistI name this mountain after him.-Believe nothing of meExcept that I felt your beautymore closely than my own.I did not see any cities burn,I heard no promises of endless night,I felt your beautymore closely than my own.Promise me that I will return.--When you call me closeto tell meyour body is not beautifulI want to summonthe eyes and hidden mouthsof stone and light and waterto testify against you.-SongI almost went to bedwithout rememberingthe four white violetsI put in the button-holeof your green sweaterand how i kissed you thenand you kissed meshy as though I'dnever been your lover -Reach into the vineyard of arteries for my heart.Eat the fruit of ignorance and share with me the mist andfragrance of dying.-”