What's in store for me in the direction I don't take?
LA is the loneliest and most brutal of American cities.
It was the work of the quiet mountains, this torrent of purity at my feet.
The closer you get to real matter, rock air fire and wood, boy, the more spiritual the world is.
Swinging on delicate hinges the autumn leaf almost off the stem.
It is not my fault that certain so-called bohemian elements have found in my writings something to hang their peculiar beatnik theories on.