Let it die. Let there be a new beginning. It’s awful. Goodnight.

I see men assassinated around me every day. I walk through rooms of the dead, streets of the dead, cities of the dead; men without eyes, men without voices; men with manufactured feelings and standard reactions; men with newspaper brains, television souls and high school ideas.

And there I was, 225 pounds, perpetually lost and confused, short legs, ape-like upper body, all chest, no neck, head too large, blurred eyes, hair uncombed, 6 feet of geek, waiting for her.

I am aware that a computer can’t create a poem, but neither can a typewriter.

they thought I had guts they were wrong I was only frightened of more important things

We waste days like mad blackbirds and pray for alcoholic nightsour silk-sick human smiles wrap around us like somebody else's confetti

Intellectuals say simple things in difficult ways. Artists say difficult things in simple ways.