My Poetry Is A Game. My Life

What Shall I Say About Poetry? What Shall I Say About Those Clouds, Or About The Sky? Look; Look At Them; Look At It! And Nothing More. Don't You Understand Anything About Poetry? Leave That To The Critics And The Professors. For Neither You, Nor I, Nor Any Poet Knows What Poetry Is.

We're All Curious About What Might Hurt Us.

Adam & Eve. The Serpent Cracked The Mirror In A Thousand Pieces, & The Apple Was His Rock.

Everything's A Fan. Brother, Open Up Your Arms. God Is The Pivot.

At First Glance, The Rhythm May Be Confused With Gaiety, But When You Look More Closely At The Mechanism Of Social Life And The Painful Slavery Of Both Men And Machines, You See That It Is Nothing But A Kind Of Typical, Empty Anguish That Makes Even Crime And Gangs Forgivable Means Of Escape.