#1977 #AmericanWriters #LoveIsADogFromHell
The drilling and squeezing continued for weeks but there was little result. When one boil vanished another would appear. I often stood in front of the mirror alone, wondering how ugly a...
That evening the phone rang. It was Mercedes. I had met her after giving a poetry reading at Venice Beach. She was about 28, fair body, pretty good legs, a blonde about 5~feet-5, a blue...
here things are tough but they’re mostly always tough. basically I’m just trying to get a… with the female. when you first meet them their eyes
we had goldfish and they circled a… in the bowl on the table near the… covering the picture window and my mother, always smiling, wanting… to be happy, told me, ‘be happy He…
I been readin’ you for a long time… I just put Billy Boy to bed, he got 7 mean ticks from somewhere… I got 2, my husband, Benny, he got 3.
At 3:30 a.m. my twelve hours were… I set the alarm so that I would b… “What happened, Hank? We thought… “I’m quitting.” “Quitting?” “Yes, you can’t blame a man for wa…
Dee Dee had a place in the Hollywood Hills. Dee Dee shared the place with a friend, another lady executive, Bianca. Bianca took the top floor and Dee Dee the bottom. I rang the bell. It...
here I am in the ground my mouth open and
Then Joyce wanted to go back to the city. For all the draw– backs, that little town, haircuts or not, beat city life. It was quiet. We had our own house. Joyce fed me well.) Plenty of m...
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...
I am a panther shut up and bellowi… cement walls, and I am angry at bl… evenings without ventilation and I am angry with you, and it wi… like a rose
drive to the beach at night in the winter and sit and look at the burned-dow… wonder why they just let it sit th… in the water.
dying has its rough edge. no escaping now. the warden has his eye on me. his bad eye. I’m doing hard time now.
yesterday drunken Alice gave me a jar of fig jam and today she whistles
if I suffer at this typewriter think how I’d feel among the lettuce— pickers of Salinas?