my first and only wife painted and she talked to me about it: it’s all so painful

The track had moved down the coast a hundred miles or so. I kept paying the rent on my apartment in town, got in my car and drove down. Once or twice a week I would drive back to the ap...

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

a poem is a city filled with stree… filled with saints, heroes, beggar… filled with banality and booze, filled with rain and thunder and p… drought, a poem is a city at war,

We got back to 1010. I had my check. I’d left word that we didn’t want to be disturbed. Tammie and I sat drinking. I’d read 5 or 6 love poems about her. “They knew who I was,” she said....

nobody goes downtown anymore the plants and trees have been cut… Pershing Square the grass is brown and the street preachers are not a…

Then I was called down to personnel at the old Federal Build– ing. They let me sit the usual 45 minutes or hour and one half. The man walked me back to a desk. There sat this woman. She...

That Tuesday night we were sitting at my place drinking; Tammie, me and her brother, Jay. The phone rang. It was Bobby. “Louie and his wife are down here and she’d like to meet you.” Lo...

beheaded in the middle of the night scratching my sides I am covered with bites kick my white legs out of the shee…

drive to the beach at night in the winter and sit and look at the burned-dow… wonder why they just let it sit th… in the water.

sun-stroked women without men on a Santa Monica Monday; the men are working or in jail or insane;