I’m in bed. it’s morning and I hear: where are your socks? please get dressed!

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, ...

no one is sorry I am leaving, not even I; but there should be a minstrel or at least a glass of wine. bothers the young most, I think:

Christmas eve, alone, in a motel room down the coast near the Pacific— hear it?

one of Lorca’s best lines is, “agony, always agony ...” think of this when you

I feel gypped by dunces as if reality were the property of little men with luck and a headstart, and I sit in the cold

here comes the fishhead singing here comes the baked potato in dra… here comes nothing to do all day l… here comes another night of no sle… here comes the phone wringing the…

the droll noon where squadrons of worms creep up like stripteasers to be raped by blackbirds. I go outside

I remember the Model-T. Sitting high, the running boards seemed friendly, and on cold days, in the mornings, and often at other times, my father had to fit the hand-crank into the front...

Graduation Day. We filed in with our caps and gowns to “Pomp and Circumstance.” I suppose that in our three years we must have learned something. Our ability to spell had probably impro...