the boys come up the boys climb up the brown pole as the waterheater gurgles in Spanish

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, ...

I was sitting with an anarchist from Beverly Hills, Ben Solvnag, who was writing my biography when I heard her footsteps on the court walk. I knew the sound—they were always fast and fr...

she cut my toenails the night befo… and in the morning she said, “I th… just lay here all day.” which meant she wasn’t going to wo… she was at my apartment—which mean…

now the territory is taken, the sacrificial lambs have been sl… as history is scratched again on t… as the bankers scurry to survive, as the young girls paint their hun…

the lair of the hunted is hidden in the last place you’d ever look and even if you find it you won’t believe

I took Tammie. We got there a little early and went to a bar across the street. We got a table. “Now don’t drink too much, Hank. You know how you slur your words and miss your lines whe...

I have been looking at the same lampshade for 5 years and it has gathered

she sits up there drinking wine while her husband is at work. she puts quite

“your poems about the girls will s… 50 years from now when the girls a… my editor phones me. dear editor: the girls appear to be gone

the waste of words continues with a stunning persistence as the waiter runs by carrying the… tray

I had Fridays and Saturdays off, which made Sunday the roughest day. Plus the fact that on Sunday they made me report at 3:30 p.m. instead of my usual 6:18 p.m. This Sunday I went in an...

Bruckner wasn’t bad even though he got down on his knees and proclaimed Wagner the master.

looking out the window smoking rolled cigarettes drinking Sanka and watching the workers come on in