We real cool. WeLeft school. WeLurk late. WeStrike straight. WeSing sin. WeThin gin. WeJazz June. WeDie soon.

She was afraid to suggest to him that to most people, nothing “happens.” That most people merely live from day to day until they die. That, after he had been dead a year, doubtless fewer...

Surely–But I am very off from that.From surely. From indeed. From the decent arrowthat was my clean naivete and my faith.This morning, men deliver wounds and death.They will deliver death and wounds tomorrow.And I doubt...

Sit down. Inhale. Exhale.The gun will wait. The lake will wait.The tall gall in the small seductive vialwill wait will wait:will wait a week: will wait through April.You do not have to die this certain...

We are each other’s harvest; we are each other’s business; we are each other’s magnitude and bond.

Writing is a delicious agony.

One reason that cats are happier than people is that they have no newspapers.

I am a writer perhaps because I am not a talker.

Live not for Battles Won.Live not for The-End-of-the-Song. Live in the along.

Poetry is life distilled.

Exhaust the little moment. Soon it dies.And be it gash or gold it will not comeAgain in this identical disguise.

We real cool. We Left school. We Lurk late. We Strike straight. We Sing sin. We Thin gin. We Jazz June. We Die soon.

Say to them,say to the down-keepers,the sun-slappers,the self-soilers,the harmony-hushers,”Even if you are not ready for dayit cannot always be night.”You will be right.For that is the hard home-run.Live not for battles won.Live not for the-end-of-the-song.Live...

Truth And if sun comes How shall we greet him?Shall we not dread him,Shall we not fear himAfter so lengthy aSession with shade?Though we have wept for him,Though we have prayedAll through the night-years—What if...