#AmericanWriters #1973 #BurningInWaterDrowningInFlame
Making love in the sun, in the mor… in a hotel room above the alley where poor men poke for bottles; making love in the sun
Frank liked airplanes. He lent me all his pulp magazines about World War 1. The best was Flying Aces. The dog-fights were great, the Spads and the Fokkers mixing it. I read all the stor...
has been going on for some time. there is this young waitress where… at the racetrack. how are you doing today?” she asks… winning pretty good,” I reply.
I was sitting next to a young girl who didn’t know her scheme very well. “Where does 2900 Roteford go?" she asked me. "Try throwing it to 33," I told her. “You say you’re from Kansas Ci...
cigarettes wetted with beer from the night before you light one gag open the door for air
Some say we should keep personal r… poem, stay abstract, and there is some r… but jezus; twelve poems gone and I don’t keep…
the kid went back to New York Cit… he met in a kibbutz. he left his mother at the age of 32, a well-kept fellow, sense of h… wore the same pair of shorts
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...
“What’s a guy like you doing in a place like this?” We got into my car and she told me where she lived. We stopped for a couple of big steaks, vegetables, stuff for a salad, potatoes, b...
red-eyed and dizzy as I the bird came flying all the way from Egypt at 5 o’clock in the morning, and Maria almost stumbled on her s…
I took my girlfriend to your last poetry reading, she said “yes”, “yes?” I asked. "she`s young and pretty",
this one teaches that one lives with his mother and that one is supported by a red… with the brain of a gnat. this one takes speed and has been…
I walked into the counselor’s office. It was Eddie Beaver sitting behind the desk. The clerks called him “Skinny Beaver.” He had a pointed head, pointed nose, pointed chin. He was all p...
this is my piano. the phone rings and people ask, what are you doing? how about getting drunk with us? and I say,
a poem is a city filled with stree… filled with saints, heroes, beggar… filled with banality and booze, filled with rain and thunder and p… drought, a poem is a city at war,