#AmericanWriters
think of the beds used again and again to fuck in to die in. in this land
sleep at Lila’s and in the morning we get the breakfast special at th… then it’s up to her friend Buffy’s… Buffy has boy twins, father in dou… in a $150-a-month apt.
One night I was coming around the corner after sneaking down to the cafeteria for a pack of smokes. And there was a face I knew. It was Tom Moto! The guy I had subbed with under The Sto...
there is always that space there just before they get to us that space that fine relaxer the breather
The next day Katherine phoned me. She said she had the tickets and would be landing at L.A. International Friday at 2:30 pm. “Katherine,” I said, “there’s something I’ve got to tell you...
I am a panther shut up and bellowi… cement walls, and I am angry at bl… evenings without ventilation and I am angry with you, and it wi… like a rose
she drives into the parking lot wh… I am leaning up against the fender… she’s drunk and her eyes are wet w… “you son of a bitch, you fucked me… didn’t want to. you told me to kee…
we are gathered here now to bury her in this poem. she did not marry an unemployed wi… beat her every
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,
is the slim tall ear-ringed bedroom damsel dressed in a long gown
My German doctor walked up. The one who had given me the blood tests. “Congratulations,” he said, shaking my hand, "it’s a girl. 9 pounds, 3 ounces.” “The mother will be all right. She ...
I went with two ladies down to Venice to look for antique furniture. I parked in back of the store and went in with them.
I cut the middle fingernail of the… finger right hand real short and I began rubbing along her cunt
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...
Thanks for the good letter. I don’t think it hurts, sometimes, to remember where you came from. You know the places where I came from. Even the people who try to write about that or mak...