The closet door is open for me, where I left it, since I left it open, it has graciously stayed open.

To gain your own voice, forget about having it heard. Become a saint of your own province and your own consciousness.

Things are symbols of themselves.

Well, while I'm here I'll do the work — and what's the work? To ease the pain of living. Everything else, drunken dumbshow.

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

I think it was when I ran into Kerouac and Burroughs - when I was 17 - that I realized I was talking through an empty skull... I wasn't thinking my own thoughts or saying my own thoughts.

Sometime I’ll lay down my wrath, As I lay my body down Between the ache of breath and breath, Golden slumber in the bone.