We Are Using Our Own Skins For

I Think That What Happens In My Poetic Work In The Future Will Depend On My Being Knocked In The Face, And Thrown Flat, And Given Cancer, And All Kinds Of Other Things Short Of Senile Dementia.

Praise Will Lead You To Vanity, And Blame Will Lead You To Self-pity, And Both Are Bad For Writers.

Bats Have No Bankers And They Do Not Drink And Cannot Be Arrested And Pay No Tax And, In General, Bats Have It Made.

Something Has Been Said For Sobriety But Very Little.

Wishin' Was Dyin' But I Gotta Make It All This Way To That Bed On These Feet.