#1993 #AmericanWriters #ThePleasuresOfTheDamned
Two mornings later, at 4 am, somebody beat on the door. I let Tammie in. She sat down and I opened a couple of beers. “I’ve got bad breath, I have these two bad teeth. You can’t kiss me...
you haven’t lived until you’ve been in a flophouse with nothing but one light bulb
during my worst times on the park benches in the jails or living with whores
you came out, she said, and then you kicked this guy’s car and then you threw yourself into a… you crushed the whole bush,
Some say we should keep personal r… poem, stay abstract, and there is some r… but jezus; twelve poems gone and I don’t keep…
the lady has me temporarily off th… and now the pecker stands up better. however, things change overnight— instead of listening to Shostakovi…
I suppose so. I was living in an attic in Phila… it became very hot in the summer a… bars. I didn’t have any money and… I put a small ad in the paper and…
Two nights later I went over to Tammie’s place on Rustic Court. I knocked. The lights weren’t on. It seemed empty. I looked in her mailbox. There were letters in there. I wrote a note, ...
The reading in Vancouver went through, $500 plus air fare and lodging. The sponsor, Bart Mcintosh, was nervous about crossing the border. I was to fly to Seattle, he’d meet me there and...
64 days and nights in that place, chemotherapy, antibiotics, blood running into the catheter. leukemia.
“I’ve made it,” she said, “I’ve c… through.” she had on new boots, pa… and a white sweater. “I know what… want now.” she was from Chicago an… had settled in L.A.’s Fairfax dis…
listening to Bruckner on the radio wondering why I’m not half mad over the latest breakup with my latest girlfriend wondering why I’m not driving the…
she died of alcoholism wrapped in a blanket on a deck chair on an ocean steamer.
I’m not going to die easy; I’ve sat on your suicide beds in some of the worst holes in America,
have we gone wrong again? we laugh less and less, become more sadly sane. all we want is the absence of others.
