I wish I lay in your arms only, yours alone with you alone with me, my lovely ghost whose body I have never seen.

When I opened my eyes, a doe was standing only a few feet away from me.

One evening beside the river, only its name. Only one river, the Ohio, that is the loneliest river in the world.

The loneliness I felt for you and the loneliness
You felt for me
Was hideous, it was the true hell of love.

   I can’t write a damned thing, which was all I wanted to do.
   And all I wanted to do was write something that you could
understand.

 One of these days, if I can get up the nerve, I think I’ll cut
off a piece of my own head and eat it.

 I love the egg.
  I even love my poor, thick, mysterious skull.

  Mario for mayor of me, and my glorious city.
  The Mayor of New York should be a nightingale.

  Jane Lee told me that in Maine she met a little boy who
insisted that in his family they had green blood in their veins.

  Everything I love is young. I love you, because you are
young. Satire, Epistle, the glistening inner wing of a redwing
blackbird’s wing, you too are young.
   I am dying young. Horace, young lover of old words,
young new faces, I love you best.