For Each Joan Of Arc There Is

Animals Never Worry About Heaven Or Hell. Neither Do I. Maybe That's Why We Get Along.

Oh, I Don’t Mean You’re Handsome, Not The Way People Think Of Handsome. Your Face Seems Kind. But Your Eyes - They’re Beautiful. They’re Wild, Crazy, Like Some Animal Peering Out Of A Forest On Fire.

One Can Never Be Sure Whether It's Good Poetry Or Bad Acid

I Carry Death In My Left Pocket. Sometimes I Take It Out And Talk To It: "hello, Baby, How You Doing? When You Coming For Me? I'll Be Ready.

I Often Stood In Front Of The Mirror Alone, Wondering How Ugly A Person Could Get.