I Don't Believe In Charity. I Believe

The Poet, Distracted By Politics, Asks Of Poetry That It Make Itself Useful Like Metal Or Flour, That It Get Ready To Stain Its Face With Coal Dust And Fight Body To Body.

The Human Murder By Poverty In Latin America Is Secret: Every Year, Without Making A Sound, Three Hiroshima Bombs Explode Over Communities That Have Become Accustomed To Suffering With Clenched Teeth.

I Go About The World, Hand Outstretched, And In The Stadiums I Plead: 'a Pretty Move, For The Love Of God.' And When Good Soccer Happens, I Give Thanks For The Miracle And I Don't Give A Damn Which Team Or Country Performs It.

The Purpose Of Torture Is Not Getting Information. It's Spreading Fear.

For Sailors Who Love The Wind, Memory Is A Good Port Of Departure.