it is like this when you slip down, done like a wound-up victrola (you remember those?) and you go downtown

red hair real she whirled it and she asked “is my ass still on?”

Every route had its traps and only the regular carriers knew of them. Each day it was another god damned thing, and you were always ready for a rape, murder, dogs, or insanity of some s...

she’s young, she said, but look at me, I have pretty ankl… and look at my wrists, I have pret… wrists my god,

John F. Kennedy flower knocks upo… shot through the neck; the gladiolas gather by the dozens… India dripping into Ceylon;

what is it about lobsters and crab… those white-pink shells that always make me hungry just looking at them there in the butcher’s display case

he said, “I was working in Hollyw… working in Hollywood and he was the worst: he was too drunk to sta… end of the afternoon and so I had… into a taxi

as the orchid dies and the grass goes insane, let’s have one for the los… met an old man and a tired whore

take a writer away from his typewr… and all you have left is the sickness which started him

we are gathered here now to bury her in this poem. she did not marry an unemployed wi… beat her every

cigarettes wetted with beer from the night before you light one gag open the door for air

my friend is worried about dying he lives in Frisco I live in L.A. he goes to the gym and works with the iron and hits

I have just spent one—hour—and—a—h… handicapping tomorrow’s card. when am I going to get at the poem… well, they’ll just have to wait

my daughter is most glorious. we are eating a takeout snack in my car in Santa Monica.