#1977 #AmericanWriters #LoveIsADogFromHell
there’s Barry in his ripped walkin… he’s on Thorazine is 24 looks 38 lives with his mother in the same
I looked for a job all summer and couldn’t find one. Jimmy Hatcher caught on at an aircraft plant. Hitler was acting up in Europe and creating jobs for the unemployed. I had been with J...
it was on the 2nd floor on Coronad… I used to get drunk and throw the radio through the wi… while it was playing, and, of cour… it would break the glass in the wi…
Vallejo writing about loneliness while starving to death; Van Gogh’s ear rejected by a whore;
I keep thinking it will be outside now waiting for me blue front bumper twisted
I got his ashes, she said, and I… out to sea and I scattered his ash… they didn’t even look like ashes and the urn was weighted with
he spoke to mice and sparrows and his hair was white at the age… his father beat him every day and… lit candles in the church. his grandmother came while the boy…
The boys on Dorsey station didn’t know my problems. I’d enter through the back way each night, hide my sweater in a tray and walk in to get my timecard: We had a game going, the black-w...
places to hunt places to hide are getting harder to find, and pet canaries and goldfish too, did you… that?
I went up to Tammie’s place with my cardboard cartons. First I got the items she mentioned. Then I found other things—other dresses and blouses, shoes, an iron, a hair dryer, Dancy’s cl...
I drank for the next week. I drank night and day and wrote 25 or 30 mournful poems about lost love. It was Friday night when the phone rang. It was Mercedes. “I got married,” she said, ...
eating cold plums in bed she told me about the German who owned everything on the block except the custom drapery shop and he tried to buy
the legs are gone and the hopes—th… and I haven’t shaved in sixteen da… but the mailman still makes his ro… water still comes out of the fauce… myself with glazed and milky eyes…
There are sketches on the walls of… and outside a large green bus swer… insanity sprung from a waving line… says the radio, and Jane Austin,… “I am going to do her portrait on…
the branches break, the birds fall… the whores stand straight, the bombs stack, evening, morning, night, peanutbutter,