#AmericanWriters #Suicide
Hinged to forgetfulness like a door, she slowly closed out of sight, and she was the woman I loved,
For Marcia
La voyageuse qui traverse les Hal… Marchait sur la pointe des pieds Le désespoir roulait au ciel ses g… Et dans le sac à main il y avait… Que seule a respiré la marraine de…
ZAP! unlaid / 20 days
Ah, you’re just a copy of all the candy bars I’ve ever eaten.
Three crates of Private Eye Lett… the name and drawing of a detectiv… with magnifying glass on the sides of the crates of lettuce, form a great cross in man’s imagin…
I walked across the park to the fe… It was in the center of a glass sq… by red flowers and fountains. The… was in the shape of a sea horse an… We got hot and died.
It seemed like years before I picked a bouquet
With the rain falling surgically against the roof, I ate a dish of ice cream that looked like Kafka’s hat.
It’s a star that looks like a poker game above the mountains of eastern Oregon. There are three men playing.
With his hat on he’s about five inches taller than a taxicab.
I feel horrible. She doesn’t love me and I wander around like a sewing machine that’s just finished sewing a turd to a garbage can lid.
There are doors that want to be free from their hinges to fly with perfect clouds. There are windows
Sometimes life is merely a matter… affords. I once read something abo… it stimulates all the organs. I thought at first this was a stra… as time goes by I have found out t…
THE HUNCHBACK TROUT The creek was made narrow by littl… too close together. The creek was… booths in a row with high Victoria… taken off and all the backs of the…
