of course, I may die in the next t
and I’m ready for that
but what I’m really worried about
that my editor—publisher might ret
even though he is ten years younge

self-congratulatory nonsense as th
famous gather to applaud their see
greatness
you
wonder where

the wind blows hard tonight
and it’s a cold wind
and I think about
the boys on the row.
I hope some of them have a bottle

at one stage in my life
I met a man who claimed to have
visited Pound at St. Elizabeths.
then I met a woman who not only
claimed to have visited

I’ve come by, she says, to tell yo
that this is it. I’m not kidding,
over. this is it.
I sit on the couch watching her ar
her long red hair before my bedroo

little dark girl with
kind eyes
when it comes time to
use the knife
I won’t flinch and

drunk on the dark streets of some
it’s night, you’re lost, where’s y
room?
you enter a bar to find yourself,
order scotch and water.

being the German kid in the 20’s i
was difficult.
there was much anti-German feeling
a carry-over from World War 1.
gangs of kids chased me through th

starving there, sitting around the
and at night walking the streets f
hours,
the moonlight always seemed fake
to me, maybe it was,

he sat naked and drunk in a room o
night, running the blade of the kn
under his fingernails, smiling, th
of all the letters he had received
telling him that