#1993 #AmericanWriters #ThePleasuresOfTheDamned
my grandmother had a serious gas problem. we only saw her on Sunday. she’d sit down to dinner and she’d have gas.
almost dawn blackbirds on the telephone wire waiting as I eat yesterday’s forgotten sandwich
I was sitting in my shorts one afternoon a week later. There was a tender little knock on the door. “Just a moment,” I said. I put on a robe and opened the door. “We’re two girls from G...
do not b other the beagle lying th… away from grass and flowers and pa… dreaming dogdreams, or perhaps dre… nothing, as men do awake; yes, leave him be, in that simple…
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
While working Dorsey station I heard some of the old timers needling Big Daddy Greystone about how he’d had to buy a tape recorder in order to learn his schemes. Big Daddy had read the ...
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 ...
she writes: you’ll be moaning and groaning in your poems about how I fucked those 2 guys last week.
the guy in the front court can’t speak English, he’s Greek, a rather stupid-looking and fairly ugly man. now my landlord does some painting…
Wagner wasn’t done with us. I was standing in the yard during gym class when he walked up to me. “I’m putting you on garbage detail until further notice.” The kids had to work off their...
I met her somehow through correspo… and she began sending me very sexy… and this being mixed in with a min… confused me somewhat and I got in… through the mountains and valleys…
sun-stroked women without men on a Santa Monica Monday; the men are working or in jail or insane;
ask the sidewalk painters of Paris ask the sunlight on a sleeping dog ask the 3 pigs ask the paperboy ask the music of Donizetti
I walked off the job again and the police stopped me for running a red light at Serrano… my mind was rather gone and I stood in a patch of leaves
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…