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

the hearse comes through the room
the beheaded, the disappeared, the
mad.
the flies are a glue of sticky pas
their wings will not

you won’t see them often
for wherever the crowd is
they
are not.
those odd ones, not

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

we like to shower afterwards
(I like the water hotter than she)
and her face is always soft and pe
and she’ll wash me first
spread the soap over my balls

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

They don’t make it
the beautiful die in flame—
suicide pills, rat poison, rope wh
ever...
they rip their arms off,

he said, “I was working in Hollyw
working in Hollywood and he was
the worst: he was too drunk to sta
end of the afternoon and so I had
into a taxi

this man used to be an
interesting writer,
he was able to say brisk and
refreshing things.
at the time

Long walks at night—
that’s what good for the soul:
peeking into windows
watching tired housewives
trying to fight off