The fiercest hearts are in love with a wild perfection.
Okay, this is going to be a tricky one. For a few months now, I’ve wanted to write about William Logan for my little website, but two questions stopped me. First, Who am I? And, second, Who really cares?
Yes, the first knowledge that counts is that everything stops.
If each foot took us back a year,
the dark below would be
I wish, because, dude, that sounds awesome.
Tourist man: Pardon me, officer, can you tell us where Orchard Street is?
Cop: See that naked Chinese guy?
Tourist man: Ummm...Yeah.
Cop: Walk down to him and make a left.
About suffering they were never wrong,
The Old Masters; how well, they understood
Its human position; how it takes place
While someone else is eating or opening a window or just walking dully along;
"I just—Christ, I just need a goddamn minute, you know?" he said.
I think the poem’s pretty hot, probably the best poem in the English language since “Song of Myself.”
I have always imagined that paradise will be a kind of library.
Thought is only a flash in the middle of a long night, but the flash that means everything.