What Good Are Fans? You Can't Eat

Idiot Wind, Blowing Every Time You Move Your Teeth. You're An Idiot Babe, It's A Wonder That You Still Know How To Breathe.

God Bless Them Pretty Women, I Wish They Was Mine, Their Breath Is As Sweet, The Dew On The Vine.

You Were Born With A Snake In Both Of Your Fists While A Hurricane Was Blowing.

Every Writer At The New Yorker Is Smarter Than Me.

Someone Handed Me Mexico City Blues In St. Paul [minnesota] In 1959 And It Blew My Mind. It Was The First Poetry That Spoke My Own Language.