#1993 #AmericanWriters #ThePleasuresOfTheDamned
this one always arrives at the wrong time a basically good sort I suppose an honest man
this is my piano. the phone rings and people ask, what are you doing? how about getting drunk with us? and I say,
sometimes you climb out of bed in… I’m not going to make it, but you… remembering all the times you’ve f… you walk to the bathroom, do your… in the mirror, oh my oh my oh my,…
The next day in bed I got tired of waiting for the airplanes and I found a large yellow notebook that had been meant for high school work. It was empty. I found a pen. I went to bed wit...
Christmas eve, alone, in a motel room down the coast near the Pacific— hear it?
beheaded in the middle of the night scratching my sides I am covered with bites kick my white legs out of the shee…
it is the man you’ve never seen wh… keeps you going, the one who might arrive someday. he isn’t out on the streets or
too much too little too fat too thin or nobody.
I’d tell them to have an unhappy l… affair, hemorrhoids, bad teeth and to drink cheap wine, avoid opera and golf and chess, to keep switching the head of thei…
the canaries were there, and the l… and the old woman with warts; and I was there, a child and I touched the piano keys as they talked—
at high noon at a small college near the beach sober the sweat running down my arms a spot of sweat on the table
I see you drinking at a fountain w… blue hands, no, your hands are not… they are small, and the fountain i… where you wrote me that last lette… I answered and never heard from yo…
the dead can sleep they don’t get up and rage they don’t have a wife. her white face like a flower in a closed
I know that some night in some bedroom soon my fingers will rift
he sits all day at the bus stop at Sunset and Western his sleeping bag beside him. he’s dirty. nobody bothers him.