#AmericanWriters
majestic, majic infinite my little girl is sun on the carpet—
there are worse things than being alone but it often takes de cades to realize this and most often
my grandmother had a serious gas problem. we only saw her on Sunday. she’d sit down to dinner and she’d have gas.
crud, he said, hauling it out of the water, what is it? a Hollow-Back June Whale, I said… no, said a guy standing by us on t…
I had Fridays and Saturdays off, which made Sunday the roughest day. Plus the fact that on Sunday they made me report at 3:30 p.m. instead of my usual 6:18 p.m. This Sunday I went in an...
monkey feet small and blue walking toward you as the back of a building falls of… and an airplane chews the white sk…
It was 12 hours a night, plus supervisors, plus clerks, plus the fact that you could hardly breathe in that pack of flesh, plus stale baked food in the “non-profit” cafeteria. Plus the ...
My father had two brothers. The younger was named Ben and the older was named John. Both were alcoholics and ne’er-do-wells. My parents often spoke of them. “Neither of them amount to a...
Our English teacher, Miss Gredis, was the absolute best. She was a blonde with a long sharp nose. Her nose wasn’t much good but you didn’t notice it when you looked at the rest of her. ...
When I awakened a few hours later, Tanya was not in the bed. It was only 9 am. I found her sitting on the couch drinking out of a pint of whiskey. “I always get up at noon. We’re going ...
half drunk I left her place her warm blankets and I was hungover didn’t even know what town
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. . .
the old folks play a game in the park overlooking the sea shoving markers across cement with wooden sticks. four play, two on each side
the bulls are grand as the side of… and although they kill them for th… it is the bull that burns the fire… and although there are cowardly bu… there are cowardly matadors and co…
we take what we can see— the engines driving us mad, lovers finally hating; this fish in the market staring upward into our minds;