I think it was when I ran into Kerouac and Burroughs – when I was 17 – that I realized I was talking through an empty skull… I wasn’t thinking my own thoughts or saying my own thoughts.
Democracy! Bah! When I hear that I reach for my feather boa!
Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It’s that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that’s what the poet does.
I want people to bow as they see me and say he is gifted with poetry, he has seen the presence of the creator.
Whoever controls the media, the images, controls the culture.
Poets are Damned… but See with the Eyes of Angels.
I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked.
The only thing that can save the world is the reclaiming of the awareness of the world. That’s what poetry does.
The weight of the world is love. Under the burden of solitude, under the burden of dissatisfaction.
Fortunately art is a community effort – a small but select community living in a spiritualized world endeavoring to interpret the wars and the solitudes of the flesh.