New York Is The Only City In

Newspaper People, Once Celebrated As Founts Of Ribald Humor And Uncouth Fun, Have Of Late Lost All Their Gaiety, And Small Wonder.

What Sweeter Words Can Fall On The Human Ear? It's Going To Be May All Week Long.

I Gave Up On New Poetry Myself 30 Years Ago When Most Of It Began To Read Like Coded Messages Passing Between Lonely Aliens In A Hostile World.

I Frankly Admit To Not Knowing Who I Am. This Is Why I Refuse To Buy Clothes That Will Tell People Who I Want Them To Think I Am.

The American Press Has The Blues. Too Many Authorities Have Assured It That Its Days Are Numbered, Too Many Good Newspapers Are In Ruins.