Another lover hits the universe. The circle is broken. But with death comes rebirth. And like all lovers and sad people, I am a poet.
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Everybody's serious but me.
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America, the plum blossoms are falling.
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Democracy! Bah! When I hear that I reach for my feather boa!
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The real America that Whitman proclaimed and Thoreau decoded.
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America I've given you all and now I'm nothing.
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If I had a soul I sold itfor pretty wordsIf I had a body I usedit up spurting my essenceAllen Ginsberg warns youdont follow my pathto extinction
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It occurs to me that I am America.I am talking to myself again.
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America when will you be angelic? When will you take off your clothes?
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I’m obsessed by Time Magazine.I read it every week.Always telling me about responsibility. Businessmen are serious. Movie producers are serious. Every...
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in my dreams you walk dripping from a sea journey on the highway across America in tears to the door of my cottage in the Western night
