I Was Up Day And Night With

I Decided I Would Go To Chicago And Try My Luck As A Writer After Those Eight Months As A Fireman.

I'll Die Propped Up In Bed Trying To Do A Poem About America.

I Take You And Pile High The Memories. Death Will Break Her Claws On Some I Keep.

There Will Be A Rusty Gun On The Wall, Sweetheart, The Rifle Grooves Curling With Flakes Of Rust. A Spider Will Make A Silver String Nest In The Darkest, Warmest Corner Of It.

I Knew I Would Read All Kinds Of Books And Try To Get At What It Is That Makes Good Writers Good. But I Made No Promises That I Would Write Books A Lot Of People Would Like To Read.