#AmericanWriters #1993 #ThePleasuresOfTheDamned
ah, Merryman, fighter on the docks, killed a man while they were unloa… bananas. mean the man he killed
the words have come and gone, I sit ill. the phone rings, the cats sleep. Linda vacuums. I am waiting to live,
they get up on their garage roof both of them 80 or 90 years old standing on the slant she wanting to fall really all the way
you may not believe it but there are people who go through life with very little friction or
You had to fill out more papers to get out than to get in. The first page they gave you was a personalized mimeo affair from the postmaster of the city. It began: “I am sorry you are te...
I drank for the next week. I drank night and day and wrote 25 or 30 mournful poems about lost love. It was Friday night when the phone rang. It was Mercedes. “I got married,” she said, ...
I sit here on the 2nd floor hunched over in yellow pajamas still pretending to be a writer.
welcome to my wormy hell. the music grinds off-key. fish eyes watch from the wall. this is where the last happy shot… fired.
she writes continually like a long nozzle spraying the air,
you sit on the couch with me tonight new woman. have you seen the
We continued drinking. Cecelia had just one more and stopped. “I want to go out and look at the moon and stars,” she said. “It’s so beautiful out!” She went outside by the swimming pool...
we are always asked to understand the other person’s viewpoint no matter how out—dated
a woman, a tire that’s flat, a disease, a desire: fears in front of you, fears that hold so still
had it for a year, really put in lot of bedroom time, slept upright on two pillows to keep from coughing, all the blood drained from my head
majestic, magic infinite my little girl is sun on the carpet—