#AmericanWriters
I was always a natural slob I liked to lay upon the bed in undershirt (stained, of course) (and with cigarette holes)
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
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…
the vultures at the zoo (all three of them) sit very quietly in their caged tree and below
We are like roses that have never… bloom when we should have bloomed… it is as if the sun has become disgusted with waiting
she was hot, she was so hot I didn’t want anybody else to have… and if I didn’t get home on time she’d be gone, and I couldn’t bear… I’d go mad. . .
I awaken about noon and go out to… in my old torn bathrobe. I’m hung over hair down in my eyes barefoot
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
the lady has me temporarily off th… and now the pecker stands up better. however, things change overnight— instead of listening to Shostakovi…
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…
when you’re young a pair of female high-heeled shoes just sitting
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…
not much chance, completely cut loose from purpose, he was a young man riding a bus
they talk down through the centuries to us, and this we need more and more, the statues and paintings in midnight age
August 12, 1986 Hello John: Thanks for the good letter. I don… You know my old saying, “Slavery… And what hurts is the steadily dim…