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I am moved by the multitudes of your intelligence and sometimes, returning, I become the sea— in love with your speed, your heaviness and breath.

Frank O'Hara

I am moved by the multitudes of your intelligence and sometimes, returning, I become the sea— in love with your speed, your heaviness and breath.

Frank O'Hara
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I am stuck in traffic in a taxicabwhich is typicaland not just of modern life
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You are the sick prince of my cerise innovations and in your drowning caresses I walk the sea
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willow trees, willow trees they remind me of DesdemonaI'm so damned literaryand at the same time the waters rushing past remindme of nothing
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Oh say can you see Alma. The darlingof Them. All her friends were artists.They alone have memories. They alonelove flowers. They alone give partiesand die. Poor Alma. They alone.She died,and it was as if all the jewels in the worldhad heaved a sigh. The seismographat Fordham university registered, for once,a spiritual note. How like a sliverin her own short fat muscular foot.She loved the Western World, thoughthere are some who say she isn't really dead.
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… my words are lovewhich willfully parades inits room, refusing to move.
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… and I’ll be happy here and happy there, fullof tea and tears
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Mothers of America let your kids go to the movies! get them out of the house so they won't know what you're up to it's true that fresh air is good for the body but what about the soul that grows in darkness, embossed by silvery images and when you grow old as grow old you must they won't hate you
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Stars are out and there is seaenough beneath the glistening earthto bear me toward the futurewhich is not so dark. I see.
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