#1977 #AmericanWriters #LoveIsADogFromHell
we are gathered here now to bury her in this poem. she did not marry an unemployed wi… beat her every
she died of alcoholism wrapped in a blanket on a deck chair on an ocean steamer.
half-past nowhere alone in the crumbling tower of myself stumbling in this the
he walks up to my Volks after I have parked and rocks it back and forth grinning around his
dumb, Jesus Christ, some people are so dumb you can hear them splashing around
with an Apple Macintosh you can’t run Radio Shack program… in its disc drive. nor can a Commodore 64 drive read a file
Again I was on a new route. The Stone always put me on hard routes, but now and then, due to the circumstances of things, he was forced to place me on one less murderous. Route 511 was ...
in the slow Mexican air I watched… and they cut off his ear, and his… no more terror than a rock. driving back the next day we stopp… and watched the golden red and blu…
was a truly amazing man he pretended to be rich even though we lived on beans and… when we sat down to eat, he said,
I was in the 4th grade when I found out about it. I was probably one of the last to know, because I still didn’t talk to anybody. A boy walked up to “Your mother has a hole . . .”—he to...
looking out the window smoking rolled cigarettes drinking Sanka and watching the workers come on in
we’d had any number of joints and… beer and I was on the bed stretche… and she said, “look, I’ve had 3 ab… in a row, real fast, and I’m sick… abortions, I don’t want you to sti…
turmoil is the god madness is the god permanent living peace is permanent living death. agony can kill
Not much happened during the rest of her stay. We drank, we ate, we fucked. There were no arguments. We took long drives down along the shore, ate at seafood cafes. I didn’t bother with...
I remember the Model-T. Sitting high, the running boards seemed friendly, and on cold days, in the mornings, and often at other times, my father had to fit the hand-crank into the front...