Quotes About Desire

Women wanted men who made money, women wanted men of mark. How many classy women were living with skid row bums? Well, I didn't want a woman anyhow. Not to live with. How could men live with women? What did it mean? What I wanted was a cave in Colorado with three years' worth of foodstuffs and drink. I'd wipe my ass with sand. Anything, anything to stop drowning in this dull, trivial and cowardly existence.

love needs too much help, he said. hate takes care of itself.

I'm tired of waiting to die. Let's go out.

I look at her and light goes all through me.

I know what a park bench is and the landlord's knock. There are only two things wrong with money: too much or too little.

The ass is the face of the soul of sex.

I don't like love as a command, as a search. It must come to you, like a hungry cat at the door.

Love dries up, I thought as I walked back to the bathroom, even faster than sperm.

for a man of 55 who didn't get laid until he was 23 and not very often until he was 50 I think that I should stay listed via Pacific Telephone until I get as much as the average man has had

She knew what she wanted and it wasn't me. I know more women like that than any other kind.

That's how they hooked you—they gave you just enough to keep alive but they never gave you enough so you could finally escape.

Anything, anything to stop drowning in this dull, trivial and cowardly existence.

I got the sad sads and all I want to do is fuck you.

Then I gave up trying to please her and simply fucked her, ripping viciously. It was like murder. I didn't care; my cock had gone crazy.

Sweet Christ, you must know that a man will go further for any poem than for any woman ever born.

Love came hard and very seldom. When it did it was usually for the wrong reasons.

I know that some night in some bedroom soon my fingers will rift through soft clean hair songs such as no radio plays all sadness, grinning into flow.

the flesh covers the bone and they put a mind in there and sometimes a soul, and the women break vases against the walls and the men drink too much and nobody finds the one but keep looking crawling in and out of beds. flesh covers the bone and the flesh searches for more than flesh.

I sit on the couch watching her arrange her long red hair before my bedroom mirror. she pulls her hair up and piles it on top of her head- she lets her eyes look at my eyes- then she drops her hair and lets it fall down in front of her face. we go to bed and I hold her speechlessly from the back my arm around her neck I touch her wrists and hands feel up to her elbows no further.

I felt I had to win. It seemed very important. I didn't know why it was important and I kept thinking, why do I think this is so important? And another part of me answered, just because it is.

God damn the geraniums! ...It was like trying to screw during an aerial attack.

She would have been a better fuck in Greece, maybe. America was a shitty place to fuck.

it's the same as before or the other time or the time before that. here's a cock and here's a cunt and here's trouble. only each time you think well now I've learned: I'll let her do that and I'll do this, I no longer want it all, just some comfort and some sex and only a minor love. now I'm waiting again and the years run thin. I have my radio and the kitchen walls are yellow. I keep dumping bottles and listening for footsteps. I hope that death contains less than this.

I wait on my fix: I am a poetry junkie.