Dying In A A War Never Stopped

My Beerdrunk Soul Is Sadder Than All The Dead Christmas Trees Of The World.

Sweet Christ, You Must Know That A Man Will Go Further For Any Poem Than For Any Woman Ever Born.

When You Leave Your Typewriter You Leave Your Machine Gun And The Rats Come Pouring Through.

I Carry Death In My Left Pocket. Sometimes I Take It Out And Talk To It: "hello, Baby, How You Doing? When You Coming For Me? I'll Be Ready.

I Can't Blame Her. But Wonder Why She's Here With Me? Where Are The Other Guys? How Can You Be Lucky? Having Someone The Others Have Abandoned?