#AmericanWriters
Mongolian coasts shining in light, listen to the pulse of the sun, the tiger is the same to all of us and high oh so high on the branch
this head like a saucer decorated with everything as lip to lip we hang in mechanical joy; my hands blaze with arias
the flesh covers the bone and they put a mind in there and sometimes a soul, and the women break
all the women all their kisses the different ways they love and talk and need. their ears they all have
light brown stare that dumb blank marvelous light brown stare I’ll take care of it.
think of de vils in hell and stare at a beautiful vase of flowers as the woman in my bedroom
they say that nothing is wasted: either that or it all is.
the boys come up the boys climb up the brown pole as the waterheater gurgles in Spanish
it’s the same as before or the other time or the time before that. here’s a cock and here’s a cunt
my friend is worried about dying he lives in Frisco I live in L.A. he goes to the gym and works with the iron and hits
I can remember starving in a small room in a strange city shades pulled down, listening to classical music I was young I was so young it hur…
my mother, father and I walked to the market once a week for our government relief food: cans of beans, cans of
I go to pick her up. she’s on some errand. she always has errands many things to do. I have nothing to do.
While working Dorsey station I heard some of the old timers needling Big Daddy Greystone about how he’d had to buy a tape recorder in order to learn his schemes. Big Daddy had read the ...
So I was surprised when the phone rang a couple of nights later and it was Cassie. “What are you doing, Hank?” She gave me the address, it was either Westwood or West L. A. “I have plen...