Christmas poem to a man in jail hello Bill Abbott: I appreciate your passing around my books in jail there, my poems and stories. if I can lighten the load for some of those guys with my books, fine. but literature, you know, is difficult for the average man to assimilate (and for the unaverage man too); I don't like most poetry, for example, so I write mine the way I like to read it.

The trouble with these people is that their cities have never been bombed and their mothers have never been told to shut up.

I've never met another man I'd rather be.

I knew it would be you

We have wasted History like a bunch of drunks shooting dice back in the men's crapper of the local bar.

there was something about that city, though it didn't let me feel guilty that I had no feeling for the things so many others needed. it let me alone.

I went home each night dizzy and sick. He was murdering me with the sound of his voice.