#AmericanWriters
I think of automobiles parked in a parking lot when I think of myself dead I think of frying pans when I think of myself dead
Sara was preparing the turkey dressing and I sat in the kitchen talking to her. We were both sipping white wine. The phone rang. I went and got it. It was Debra. “I just wanted to wish ...
big sloppy wounded dog hit by a car and walking toward the curbing making enormous sounds
horses running with her miles away laughing with a fool Bach and the hydrogen bomb
stew at noon, my dear; and look: the ants, the sawdust, the mica plants, the shadows of banks like bad jokes; do you think we’ll hear
here I am in the ground my mouth open and
the bulls are grand as the side of… and although they kill them for th… it is the bull that burns the fire… and although there are cowardly bu… there are cowardly matadors and co…
once we were young at this machine. . . drinking
you’re a beast, she said your big white belly and those hairy feet. you never cut your nails and you have fat hands
the swans drown in bilge water, take down the signs, test the poisons, barricade the cow from the bull,
they say that nothing is wasted: either that or it all is.
one of the first actors to play Ta… Motion Picture Home. he’d been there for years waiting… he spent much of his time running in and out of the wards
So gramps wrote Joyce a big check and there we were. We rented a little house up on a hill, and then Joyce got this stupid moralistic thing. “We both ought to get jobs,” Joyce said, “to...
we tried to hide it in the house s… neighbors wouldn’t see. was difficult, sometimes we both h… be gone at once and when we return… there would be excreta and urine a…
my goldfish stares with watery eye… into the hemisphere of my sorrow; upon the thinnest of threads we hang together, hang hang hang