| America, I've given you all and now I'm nothing | |
| America, two dollars and twenty-seven cents January 17, 1956 | |
| I can't stand my own mind | |
| America, when will we end the human war | |
| Go fuck yourself with your atom bomb | |
| I don't feel good, don't bother me | |
| I won't write my poem till I'm in my right mind | |
| America, when will you be angelic | |
| When will you take off your clothes | |
| When will you look at yourself through the grave | |
| When will you be worthy of your million Trotskyites | |
| America, why are your libraries full of tears | |
| America, when will you send your eggs to India | |
| I'm sick of your insane demands | |
| When can I go into the supermarket and buy what I need with my good looks | |
| America, after all, it is you and I who are perfect, not the next world | |
| Your machinery is too much for me | |
| You made me want to be a saint | |
| There must be some other way to settle this argument | |
| Burroughs is in Tangiers | |
| I don't think he'll come back, it's sinister | |
| Are you being sinister or is this some form of practical joke | |
| I'm trying to come to the point | |
| I refuse to give up my obsession | |
| America, stop pushing, I know what I'm doing | |
| America, the plum blossoms are falling | |
| I haven't read the newspapers for months | |
| Everyday somebody goes on trial for murder |
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