#AmericanWriters
O lord, he said, Japanese women, real women, they have not forgotte… bowing and smiling closing the wounds men have made; but American women will kill you l…
We are like roses that have never… bloom when we should have bloomed… it is as if the sun has become disgusted with waiting
there’s a bluebird in my heart tha… wants to get out but I’m too tough for him, I say, stay in there, I’m not goi… to let anybody see
at the track today, Father’s Day, each paid admission was entitled to a wallet and each contained a
I can remember starving in a small room in a strange city shades pulled down, listening to classical music I was young I was so young it hur…
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…
the best often die by their own ha… just to get away, and those left behind can never quite understand why anybody
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 have lain in bed all day but I have written one poem and I am up now looking out the window and like a novelist might say
Bach, I said, he had 20 children. he played the horses during the da… he f—ed at night and drank in the mornings. he wrote music in between.
I even hear the mountains the way they laugh up and down their blue sides and down in the water the fish cry
The flies are angry bits of life; why are they so angry? it seems they want more, it seems almost as if they are angry
it sits outside my window now like and old woman going to market… it sits and watches me, it sweats nevously through wire and fog and dog—bark
she was a short one getting fat and she had once been beautiful and she drank the wine she drank the wine in bed and
Making love in the sun, in the mor… in a hotel room above the alley where poor men poke for bottles; making love in the sun