Dear, I Can't Write, It's

All The Unhurried Day / Your Mind Lay Open Like A Drawer Of Knives.

Poetry Should Begin With Emotion In The Poet, And End With The Same Emotion In The Reader. The Poem Is Simply The Instrument Of Transferance.

Why Should I Let The Toad Work Squat On My Life? Can't I Use My Wit As A Pitchfork And Drive The Brute Off? Six Days Of The Week It Soils With Its Sickening Poison-- Just For Paying A Few Bills! That's Out Of Proportion.

Boys Dream Of Native Girls Who Bring Breadfruit, Whatever They Are.

I Wouldn't Mind Seeing China If I Could Come Back The Same Day.