Finally There Is Nothing Here For Death

I Can't Think Of Any Poet-recluses Outside Of One Dead Jeffers. [robinson Jeffers] The Rest Of Them Want To Slobber Over Each Other And Hug Each Other. It Appears To Me That I Am The Last Of The Poet-recluses.

Basically, That's Why I Wrote: To Save My Ass, To Save My Ass From The Madhouse, From The Streets, From Myself.

If I Bet On Humanity, I'd Never Cash A Ticket.

If There Are Junk Yards In Hell, Love Is The Dog That Guards The Gates.

Some Moments Are Nice, Some Are Nicer, Some Are Even Worth Writing About.