#1993 #AmericanWriters #ThePleasuresOfTheDamned
this is my piano. the phone rings and people ask, what are you doing? how about getting drunk with us? and I say,
The toughest in the station. Apartment houses with boxes that had scrubbed-out names or no names at all, under tiny lightbulbs in dark halls. Old ladies standing in halls, up and down t...
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,
the soldiers march without guns the graves are empty peacocks glide in the rain down stairways march great men smi… there is food enough and rent enou…
The next day was Saturday and Debra cooked us breakfast. “Are you coming antique hunting with us today?” We ate in silence for a while, then she said, “I liked your reading at The Lance...
drunk on the dark streets of some… it’s night, you’re lost, where’s y… room? you enter a bar to find yourself, order scotch and water.
I phoned Joyce. “How’s it working with Purple Sti… “What did he do when you told him… “We were sitting across from each… “What happened?”
But there were some good moments. My sometime friend from the neighborhood, Gene, who was a year older than I, had a buddy, Harry Gibson, who had had one professional fight (he’d lost)....
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 wait on life like a pregnancy, p… the gut but all I hear now is the piano slamming its teeth throu… brain
I was a bum in San Francisco but… to go to a symphony concert along… and the music was good but somethi… audience was not and something about the orchestra
I would, of course, prefer to be w… instead of with a photograph of an… to the sound of the anvil chorus a… girls kicking high, showing everyt… but I might as well be dead right…
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…
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
It was about a week later around 7 a.m. I had lucked into another day off and after a double workout, I was up against Joyce’s ass, her asshole, sleeping, verily sleeping, and then the ...