Who’ll Come Lie Down In

Poetry Is Not An Expression Of The Party Line. It's That Time Of Night, Lying In Bed, Thinking What You Really Think, Making The Private World Public, That's What The Poet Does.

The Weight Of The World Is Love. Under The Burden Of Solitude, Under The Burden Of Dissatisfaction.

He Threw Up His Hands And Wrote The Universe Dont Exist And Died To Prove It

America I Used To Be A Communist When I Was A Kid And I'm Not Sorry.

Everybody's Serious But Me.