As A Rule, I Don't

I Am The Literary Equivalent Of A Big Mac And Fries.

Jesus Watches From The Wall, But His Face Is Cold As Stone, And If He Loves Me As She Tells Me Why Do I Feel So All Alone?

Say What You Mean. Say What You See. Make A Photograph, If You Can, For The Reader.

The Poets Continually And Sometimes Wilfully Mistake Love. Love Is The Old Slaughterer.

I've Taken Off Two Months, Three Months At A Time, And, By The End, I Get Really Squirrelly. My Night Life, My Dream Life, Gets Extremely Populated And Crazed.