#1993 #AmericanWriters #ThePleasuresOfTheDamned
he sits all day at the bus stop at Sunset and Western his sleeping bag beside him. he’s dirty. nobody bothers him.
Slipping keenly into bright ashes, target of vanilla tears your sure body lit candles for men on dark nights, and now your night is darker
old grey-haired waitresses in cafes at night have given it up, and as I walk down sidewalks of light and look into windows
we take what we can see— the engines driving us mad, lovers finally hating; this fish in the market staring upward into our minds;
all the way from Mexico straight from the fields to 14 wins 13 by k.o. he was ranked #3
I’m in bed. it’s morning and I hear: where are your socks? please get dressed!
the kid went back to New York Cit… he met in a kibbutz. he left his mother at the age of 32, a well-kept fellow, sense of h… wore the same pair of shorts
The next morning Tammie found a prescription in her purse. “I’ve got to get this filled,” she said. “Look at it.” It was wrinkled and the ink had run. “Well, he tried to get this prescr...
On Thursday night Bobby phoned again. “Hey, man, what are you doing?” “Oh, come on, man, I’ll just stay for a few beers. . . .” “You treat him mean. He gets lonely when his wife is at w...
she was in her orange Volks waitin… as I walked up the street with 2 six packs and a pint of sco… and she jumped out and began grabbing the beerbottles…
is the slim tall ear-ringed bedroom damsel dressed in a long gown
the rag. she sat there, glooming. I couldn’t do anything with her. it was raining. she got up and left.
turmoil is the god madness is the god permanent living peace is permanent living death. agony can kill
I went to my place, started drinking. I snapped on the radio and found some classical music. I got my Coleman lantern out of the closet. I turned out the lights and sat playing with the...
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