Am I to become profligate as if I were a blonde Or religious as if I were French 
Each time my heart is broken it makes me feel more adventurous (and how the same names keep recurring on that interminable list) but one of these days there’ll be nothing left with which to venture forth 
Why should I share you Why don’t you get rid of someone else for a change 
I am the least difficult of men All I want is boundless love 
Even trees understand me Good heavens I lie under them too don’t I I’m just like a pile of leaves 
However I have never clogged myself with the praises of pastoral life nor with nostalgia for an innocent past of perverted acts in pastures No One need never leave the confines of New York to get all the greenery one wishes—I can’t even enjoy a blade of grass unless I know there’s a subway handy or a record store or some other sign that people do not totally regret life It is more important to affirm the least sincere; the clouds get enough attention as it is and even they continue to pass Do they know what they’re missing Uh huh 
My eyes are vague blue like the sky and change all the time; they are indiscriminate but fleeting entirely specific and disloyal so that no one trusts me I am always looking away Or again at something after it has given me up It makes me restless and that makes me unhappy but I cannot keep them still If only I had grey green black brown yellow eyes; I would stay at home and do something It’s not that I am curious On the contrary I am bored but it’s my duty to be attentive I am needed by things as the sky must be above the earth And lately so great has their anxiety become I can spare myself little sleep 
Now there is only one man I love to kiss when he is unshaven Heterosexuality you are inexorably approaching (How discourage her) 
St Serapion I wrap myself in the robes of your whiteness which is like midnight in Dostoevsky How am I to become a legend my dear I’ve tried love but that hides you in the bosom of another and I am always springing forth from it like the lotus—the ecstasy of always bursting forth (but one must not be distracted by it) or like a hyacinth to keep the filth of life away yes there even in the heart where the filth is pumped in and courses and slanders and pollutes and determines I will my will though I may become famous for a mysterious vacancy in that department that greenhouse 
Destroy yourself if you don’t know 
It is easy to be beautiful; it is difficult to appear so I admire you beloved for the trap you’ve set It's like a final chapter no one reads because the plot is over 
Fanny Brown is run away—scampered off with a Cornet of Horse; I do love that little Minx & hope She may be happy tho’ She has vexed me by this Exploit a little too —Poor silly Cecchina or F:B: as we used to call her I wish She had a good Whipping and 10000 pounds Mrs Thrale 
I’ve got to get out of here I choose a piece of shawl and my dirtiest suntans I’ll be back I'll re-emerge defeated from the valley; you don’t want me to go where you go so I go where you don’t want me to It’s only afternoon there’s a lot ahead There won’t be any mail downstairs Turning I spit in the lock and the knob turns
Meditations in an Emergency by Frank O'Hara