#AmericanWriters #1977 #LoveIsADogFromHell
of course, I may die in the next t… and I’m ready for that but what I’m really worried about… that my editor—publisher might ret… even though he is ten years younge…
the house next door makes me sad. both man and wife rise early and go to work. they arrive home in early evening.
the droll noon where squadrons of worms creep up like stripteasers to be raped by blackbirds. I go outside
in the earliest possible day in the blue-headed noon I will telegraph you a boney hand decorated with
Lydia had two children; Tonto, a boy of 8, and Lisa, the little girl of 5 who had interrupted our first fuck. We were together at the table one night eating dinner. Things were going we...
So I was surprised when the phone rang a couple of nights later and it was Cassie. “What are you doing, Hank?” She gave me the address, it was either Westwood or West L. A. “I have plen...
as the poems go into the thousands… realize that you’ve created very little. it comes down to the rain, the sun… the traffic, the nights and the da…
On Thursday night Bobby phoned again. “Hey, man, what are you doing?” “Oh, come on, man, I’ll just stay for a few beers. . . .” “You treat him mean. He gets lonely when his wife is at w...
a very miraculous thing just happe… my beerbottle flipped over backwar… and landed on its bottom on the fl… and I have set it upon the table t… but the photos were not so lucky t…
in San Francisco the landlady, 80… Victrola up the stairway and I pl… until they beat on the walls. there was a large bucket in the ce… filled with beer and winebottles;
crud, he said, hauling it out of the water, what is it? a Hollow-Back June Whale, I said… no, said a guy standing by us on t…
the critics now have me drinking champagne and driving a BMW and also married to a socialite from
my father was a practical man. he had an idea. you see, my son, he said, I can pay for this house in my lif… then it’s mine.
We are like roses that have never… bloom when we should have bloomed… it is as if the sun has become disgusted with waiting
Vallejo writing about loneliness while starving to death; Van Gogh’s ear rejected by a whore;