#AmericanWriters #Suicide
It’s night
THE AUTOPSY OF TROUT FISHING IN AMERICA This is the autopsy of Trout Fish… Fishing in America had been Lord… Missolonghi, Greece, and afterwar…
Ah, you’re just a copy of all the candy bars I’ve ever eaten.
THE PUDDING MASTER OF STANLEY BASIN Tree, snow and rock beginnings, th… lake promised us eternity, but the… thousands of silly minnows, swimmi…
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…
A RETURN TO THE COVER OF THIS BOOK Dear Trout Fishing in America: I met your friend Fritz in Washin… to tell you that his case went to…
This poem was found written on a p… Brautigan in a laundromat in San…
O beautiful was the werewolf in his evil forest. We took him to the carnival
A girl in a green mini– skirt, not very pretty, walks down the street.
Hinged to forgetfulness like a door, she slowly closed out of sight, and she was the woman I loved,
Thinking hard about you I got on the bus and paid 30 cents car fare and asked the driver for two trans… before discovering
I go to bed in Los Angeles thinki… about you.
With the rain falling surgically against the roof, I ate a dish of ice cream that looked like Kafka’s hat.
Do you think of me as often as I think of you?
It seemed like years before I picked a bouquet
