A Million Faces At My Feet But

In The Valley Of The Giants Where The Stars And Stripes Explode, The Peaches They Were Sweet And The Milk And Honey Flowed.

Someone Handed Me Mexico City Blues In St. Paul [minnesota] In 1959 And It Blew My Mind. It Was The First Poetry That Spoke My Own Language.

I Forgot More Than You'll Ever Know.

Whenever Anybody Does Something In A Big Way, It's Always Rejected At Home And Accepted Someplace Else.

How Many Times Must A Man Look Up, Before He Can See The Sky?