“You take the human being and you twist it all about So scrub my skin with women Chain my tongue with whisky Stuff my nose with garlic Coat my eyes with butter Fill my ears with silver Stick my legs in plaster Tell me lies about Vietnam.”

Poetry is an extra hand. It can caress or tickle. It can clench and fight.

The man who believes in giraffes would swallow anything.

I want to speak, to sing to total strangers. It’s my way of talking to the world.

I don’t like writing essays or theory.

There have always been poets who performed.

Blake sang his Songs of Innocence and Experience to parties of friends.

Lovers lie around in itBroken glass is found in itGrassI like that stuff.

I use the language I use to my friends. They wouldn’t believe me if I used some high-flown literary language. I want them to believe me.

I hope my poetry has a relationship with good-time rock’n roll.

Most people ignore most poetry because most poetry ignores most people.

Stadium rock and commercial rock are the opposite of what poetry needs. An audience of around 200 is ideal for poetry.

I would have walked on the waterBut I wasn’t fully insured.

And the BMA sent a writ my wayWith the very first leper I cured.

I use rock and jazz and blues rhythms because I love that music.

I was run over by the truth one day.Ever since the accident I’ve walked this way.

You put your bombers in, you put your conscience out.