When You Clean Up A City, You

I'll Use The Knives For Spreading Jam, And The Gas To Warm My Greying Love.

There Would Never Be A Way For Me To Live Comfortably With People. Maybe I'd Become A Monk. I'd Pretend To Believe In God And Live In A Cubicle, Play An Organ And Stay Drunk On Wine.

The Sea Is Made Of Blood

Style Is The Answer To Everything. A Fresh Way To Approach A Dull Or Dangerous Thing

The Role Of The Poet Is Almost Nothing...drearily Nothing. And When He Steps Outside Of His Boots And Tries To Get Tough As Our Dear Ezra [pound] Did, He Will Get His Pink Little Ass Slapped.