If you want to know where God is, ask a drunk.

our bones like stems into the sky will forever cry victory

sometimes there's nothing to say about death.

your letters got sadder. your lovers betrayed you. kid, I wrote back, all lovers betray. it didn't help. you said you had a crying bench and it was by a bridge and the bridge was over the river and you sat on the crying bench every night and wept for the lovers who had hurt and forgotten you.

Disneyland remains the central attraction of Southern California, but the graveyard remains our reality.

when I was a boy I used to dream of becoming the village idiot. I used to lie in bed and imagine myself the happy idiot able to get food easily ...and easy sympathy, a planned confusion of not too much love or effort. some would claim that I have succeeded.

To me Art (poetry) is a continuous and continuing process and that when a man fails to write good poetry he fails to live fully or well.