we have so little time to do all this stuff,
you can’t waste a minute
free yourself from the consequences of the action
success, futurity, the point
Another car crash maybe, if you’re an American filmmaker
What was the reason? Can you remind me?
You should read Man’s Fate, André Malraux, write that down
Van Gogh’s letters,
his favorite book was Uncle Tom’s Cabin,
can you believe that?
names no one knows — vanished —
Union Square used to be a radical place
who you were as a writer was measured by the life you lived, not the degree you had
What are we going to do with ourselves?
we have a finite amount of pulse beats
and all he really wanted to do is smoke opium.
I’m serious, really, do anything you want and don’t be frightened,
We don’t want realism
green trees ice cream mom where are you
By what criteria is that not a good poem?