my goldfish stares with watery eye… into the hemisphere of my sorrow; upon the thinnest of threads we hang together, hang hang hang

as I go to the escalator young fellow and a lovely young gi… are ahead of me. her pants, her blouse are skintigh… as we ascend

he was easy, fat as a hummingbird and I had him blowing, I jabbed and crossed and took my t… everybody was waiting for the main… drinking beer, and I was thinking

we have everything and we have not… and some men do it in churches and some men do it by tearing butt… in half and some men do it in Palm Spring…

rose red sunlight; take it apart in the garage like a puzzle:

they photograph you on your porch and on your couch and standing in the courtyard or leaning against your car these photographers

there he is: not too many hangovers not too many fights with women not too many flat tires never a thought of suicide

this man sometimes forgets who he is. sometimes he thinks he’s the Pope. other times he thinks he’s a

out of the arms of one love and into the arms of another I have been saved from dying on th… by a lady who smokes pot writes songs and stories,

“You ought to try to be like Abe Mortenson,” said my mother, “he gets straight A’s. Why can’t you ever get any A’s?” “Henry is dead on his ass,” said my father. “Sometimes I can’t belie...

There was a gang of us down there. 150 or 200. There were tedious papers to fill out. Then we all stood up and faced the flag. The guy who swore us in was the same guy who had sworn me ...

if I suffer at this typewriter think how I’d feel among the lettuce— pickers of Salinas?