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

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.

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.

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.

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.

Written poetry is different. Best thing is to see it in performance first, then read it. Performance is more provocative.

When I am sad and wearyWhen I think all hope has goneWhen I walk along High HolbornI think of you with nothing on

I get up every morning determined to both change the world and to have one hell of a good time. Sometimes, this makes planning the day difficult.

Good men are the stars, the planets of the ages wherein they live, and illustrate the times.

I have a family and you know very well the time that that takes. That’s good time. I have a couple hobbies. I’m a runner and play tennis. In the summer my family and I uproot ourselves and go live in Maine for the summer.

That which we remember is, more often than not, that which we would like to have been; or that which we hope to be. Thus our memory and our identity are ever at odds; our history ever a tale told by inattentive idealists.