this fear of being what they are:
dead.
at least they are not out on the s
are careful to stay indoors, those
pasty mad who sit alone before the

I was always a natural slob
I liked to lay upon the bed
in undershirt (stained, of
course) (and with cigarette
holes)

I still get letters in the mail, m
men in tiny rooms with factory job
living with whores or no woman at
booze and madness.
Most of their letters are on lined

don’t undress my love
you might find a mannequin:
don’t undress the mannequin
you might find
my love.

he drank wine all night of the
28th, and he kept thinking of her:
the way she walked and talked and
the way she told him things that s
but were not, and he knew the colo

it
takes
a lot of
desperation
dissatisfaction

I reached up into the top of the c
and took out a pair of blue pantie
and showed them to her and
asked “are these yours?”

a girlfriend came in
built me a bed
scrubbed and waxed the kitchen flo
scrubbed the walls
vacuumed

this time has finished me.
I feel like the German troops
whipped by snow and the communists
walking bent
with newspapers stuffed into

I was a bum in San Francisco but
to go to a symphony concert along
and the music was good but somethi
audience was not
and something about the orchestra