death wants more death, and its we
I remember my father’s garage, how
I would brush the corpses of flies
from the windows they thought were
their sticky, ugly, vibrant bodies

the best often die by their own ha
just to get away,
and those left behind
can never quite understand
why anybody

the lady has me temporarily off th
and now the pecker stands up
better.
however, things change overnight—
instead of listening to Shostakovi

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

I was fairly drunk when it
began and I took out my bottle and
along the way. I was reading a wee
Kandel and I did not look quite a
pretty but

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?”

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

when God created love he didn’t he
when God created dogs He didn’t h
when God created plants that was a
when God created hate we had a sta
when God created me He created me

there is enough treachery, hatred
human being to supply any given ar
and the best at murder are those w
and the best at hate are those who
and the best at war finally are th

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