Everything I Wrote Was True Because I

At Lilac Evening I Walked With Every Muscle Aching Among The Lights Of 27th And Welton In The Denver Colored Section, Wishing I Were A Negro, Feeling That The Best The White World Had Offered Was Not Enough Ecstasy For Me, Not Enough Life, Joy, Kicks, Darkness, Music, Not Enough Night.

The Bus Roared On. I Was Going Home In October. Everybody Goes Home In October.

Finding Nirvana Is Like Locating Silence.

I Am Always Thinking 'what Am I Doing Here? Is This The Way I Am Supposed To Feel?'

A Pain Stabbed My Heart As It Did Every Time I Saw A Girl I Loved Who Was Going The Opposite Direction In This Too-big World.