I should think that many of our poets, the honest ones, will confess to having no manifesto. It is a painful confession but the art of poetry carries its own powers without having to break them down into critical listings. I do not mean that poetry should be raffish and irresponsible clown tossing off words into the void. But the very feeling of a good poem carries its own reason for being... Art is its own excuse, and it’s either Art or it’s something else. It’s either a poem or a piece of cheese.

Those who preach god, need god Those who preach peace do not have peace Those who preach love do not have love

The world had somehow gone too far, and spontaneous kindness could never be so easy.

Daddy,' my mother asked, 'aren’t we going to run out of gas?' No there’s plenty of god-damned gas.' Where are we going?' I’m going to get some god-damed oranges!

Was I the only person who was distracted by this future without a chance?

I went to the bathroom and threw some water on my face, combed my hair. If I could only comb that face, I thought, but I can't.

It was like a church in there as only the truly lost sit in bars on Tuesday mornings at 8:00 a.m.