#AmericanWriters
the ladies of summer will die like… and the lie the ladies of summer will love so long as the price is not forever
the schoolyard was a horror show:… freaks the beatings up against the wire f… our schoolmates watching glad that they were not the victim…
Of all the guys left in the neighborhood, Frank was the nicest. We got to be friends, we got to going around together, we didn’t need the other guys much. They had more or less kicked F...
is an orange animal with hand grenades fire power
I used to know a dutchman in a Ph… he’d take 3 raw eggs in his beer, 71, still working, strong,
when Whitman wrote, “I sing the b… I know what he meant I know what he wanted:
I know a woman who keeps buying puzzles Chinese puzzles blocks
I can see myself now after all these suicide days and n… being wheeled out of one of those… (of course, this is only if I get… by a subnormal and bored nurse
the wind blows hard to night and it’s a cold wind and I think about the boys on the row. hope some of them have a bottle
I took the envelope home to my mother and handed it to her and walked into the bedroom. My bedroom. The best thing about the bedroom was the bed. I liked to stay in bed for hours, even ...
I had agreed to give a reading up north. It was the afternoon before the reading and I was sitting in an apartment at the Holiday Inn drinking beer with Joe Washington, the promoter, an...
I was back in L.A. about a week and a half. It was night. The phone rang. It was Cecelia, she was sobbing. “Hank, Bill is dead. You’re the first one I’ve called.” “I’m so glad you came ...
washed—up, on shore, the old yello… out again I write from the bed as I did last year.
I can’t have it and you can’t have it and we won’t get it so don’t bet on it
he hooked to the body hard took it well and loved to fight had seven in a row and a small fle… over one eye,