love iz a big fat turkey and every day iz thanksgiving

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.

There still might be a place for us somewhere.

there must be a way. surely there must be a way that we have not yet thought of. who put this brain inside of me? it cries it demands it says that there is a chance. it will not say "no.

I never met another man I'd rather be. And even if that's a delusion, it's a lucky one.

Boring damned people. All over the earth. Propagating more boring damned people. What a horror show. The earth swarmed with them.

I don't like jail, they got the wrong kind of bars in there.