she writes continually like a long nozzle spraying the air,

I pick up the skirt, I pick up the sparkling beads in black, this thing that moved once around flesh,

absolutely sesamoid said the skeleton shoving his chalky foot upon my desk, and that was it,

stew at noon, my dear; and look: the ants, the sawdust, the mica plants, the shadows of banks like bad jokes; do you think we’ll hear

R.O.T.C. (Reserve Officer Training Corps) was for the misfits. Like I said, it was either that or gym. I would have taken gym but I didn’t want people to sec the boils on my back. There...

am sitting on a tin chair outside… death, on stinking wings, wafts th… halls forevermore. remember the hospital stenches fro… was a boy and when I was a man and…

yes, it’s dark in here. can’t open the door. can’t open the jam lid. can’t find a pair of socks that ma… was born in Andernach in 1920 and…

I only met one student at City College that I liked, Robert Becker. He wanted to be a writer. “I’m going to learn everything there is to learn about writing. It will be like taking a ca...

the blazing shark wants my balls as I walk through the meat section looking for salami and cheese purple housewives

you’ve got to fuck a great many wo… beautiful women and write a few decent love poems. and don’t worry about age and/or freshly-arrived talents.

Dee Dee had to pick up her son at the airport. He was coming home from England for his vacation. He was 17, she told me, and his father was an ex-concert pianist. But he’d fallen for sp...

this man used to be an interesting writer, he was able to say brisk and refreshing things. at the time

they say that nothing is wasted: either that or it all is.