Should I get married? Should I b… Astound the girl next door with my… Don’t take her to movies but to ce… tell all about werewolf bathtubs a… then desire her and kiss her and a…

a slow thoughtful spontaneous poem I am 32 years old and finally I look my age, if not… Is it a good face what’s no more a… It seems fatter. And my hair,

How inseparable you and the Ameri… there to see; you and America, lik… ground, are one the same; yet how… in the state of Oregon. . . dead e… like a snow polar loping the

Uncomprising year’€”I see no mean… Though this abled self is here non… either in trade gold or grammaticn… I drop the wheelwright’€™s simple… Why weave the garland? Why ring t…

Budger of history Brake of time… Toy of universe Grandest of all… Do I hate the mischievous thunder… The bumpy club of One Million B.… Catapult Da Vinci tomahawk Coc…

I stand in the dark light in the d… street and look up at my window, I was born there. The lights are on; other people ar…

My hands did numb to beauty as they reached into Death and tig… O sovereign was my touch upon the tan-inks’s fragile page! Quickly, my eyes moved quickly,

I reached heaven and it was syrupy… It was oppressively sweet. Croaking substances stuck to my kn… Of all substances St. Michael was… I grabbed him and pasted him on my…

I am a great American I am almost nationalistic about it… I love America like a madness! But I am afraid to return to Amer… I’m even afraid to go into the Am…

O this political air so heavy with… and motors of a slow night, and no… but rain to walk—How it rings the… The umbrella’d congressmen; the ra… of big black cars, the shoulders o…

They deliver the edicts of God without delay And are exempt from apprehension from detention And with their God-given

When I laid aside the verses of M… I lived a life of canned heat and… alone, not far from my body did I… walked with a hope of a sudden dre… O rose, downfallen, bend your huge…

With a love a madness for Shelley Chatterton Rimbaud and the needy-yap of my youth has gone from ear to ear: I HATE OLD POETMEN!

I am watching them churn the last… They are waiting for me to die; They want to make buttons out of m… Where are my sisters and brothers? That tall monk there, loading my u…