The World Is A Heap Of People,

I Am Quite Prehistoric, Absolutely Prehistoric.

I'm Not Asking You To Describe The Rain Falling The Night The Archangel Arrived; I'm Demanding That You Get Me Wet. Make Up Your Mind, Mr. Writer, And For Once In Your Life Be The Flower That Smells Rather Than The Chronicler Of The Aroma. There's Not Much Pleasure In Writing What You Live. The Challenge Is To Live What You Write.

Indignation Must Always Be The Answer To Indignity. Reality Is Not Destiny.

The Church Says: The Body Is A Sin. Science Says: The Body Is A Machine. Advertising Says: The Body Is A Business. The Body Says: I Am A Fiesta.

The Poet, Distracted By Politics, Asks Of Poetry That It Make Itself Useful Like Metal Or Flour, That It Get Ready To Stain Its Face With Coal Dust And Fight Body To Body.