I don't do anything with my life except romanticize and decay with indecision.

I know I'm not God, are you? Don't be silly. God? God? Everybody's God? Don't be silly.

Democracy! Bah! When I hear that I reach for my feather boa!

If I had a soul I sold it for pretty words If I had a body I used it up spurting my essence Allen Ginsberg warns you dont follow my path to extinction

in my dreams you walk dripping from a sea journey on the highway across America in tears to the door of my cottage in the Western night

What came is gone forever every time

Poets are Damned... but See with the Eyes of Angels.