#Americans #XXCentury #1973 #BurningInWaterDrowningInFlame #CrucifixInADeathhand
I am hung by a nail the sun melts my heart I am cousin to the snake
a woman told a man when he got off a plane that I was dead. a magazine printed the fact that I was dead
murder the roaches spit out paper clips and the helicopter circles and cir… smelling for blood
Office of Postmaster—United States Post Office—January 1, 1970 The attention of all employees is directed to the Code of Ethics for postal employees as set forth in Part 742 of the Post...
never even in calmer times have I ever dreamed of bicycling through that
I remember the Model-T. Sitting high, the running boards seemed friendly, and on cold days, in the mornings, and often at other times, my father had to fit the hand-crank into the front...
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
man, he said, sitting on the steps your car sure needs a wash and wax… I can do it for you for 5 bucks, I got the wax, I got the rags, I… I need.
in San Francisco the landlady, 80… Victrola up the stairway and I pl… until they beat on the walls. there was a large bucket in the ce… filled with beer and winebottles;
I saw Sara every three or four days, at her place or at mine. We slept together but there was no sex. We came close but we never quite got to it. Drayer Baba’s precepts held strong. We ...
consistency is terrific: shark-mouth grubby interior with an almost perfect body, long blazing hair—
the rooms at the hospital went for 550 a day. that was for the room alone. the amazing thing, though, was tha… in some of the rooms
Then some men came around and ripped out every other water– fountain. “Hey, look, what the hell are they doing?” I asked. I was in the 3rd class flat section. I walked over to another c...
she wore a platinum blond wig and her face was rouged and powder… and she put the lipstick on making a huge painted mouth and her neck was wrinkled
no one is sorry I am leaving, not even I; but there should be a minstrel or at least a glass of wine. bothers the young most, I think: