#AmericanWriters
waiting for death like a cat that will jump on the bed I am so very sorry for
not much chance, completely cut loose from purpose, he was a young man riding a bus
I have just spent one—hour—and—a—h… handicapping tomorrow’s card. when am I going to get at the poem… well, they’ll just have to wait
this head like a saucer decorated with everything as lip to lip we hang in mechanical joy; my hands blaze with arias
the vultures at the zoo (all three of them) sit very quietly in their caged tree and below
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
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
you won’t see them often for wherever the crowd is they are not. those odd ones, not
I was shacked with a 24 year old girl from New York City for two weeks—about the time of the garbage
in the hospitals and jails it’s the worst in madhouses it’s the worst in penthouses
a woman, a tire that’s flat, a disease, a desire: fears in front of you, fears that hold so still
“you know,” she said, “you were at the bar so you didn’t see but I danced with this guy. we danced and we danced close.
never even in calmer times have I ever dreamed of bicycling through that
often it is the only thing between you and impossibility. no drink,
if I suffer at this typewriter think how I’d feel among the lettuce— pickers of Salinas?