see this poem? was written without drinking. don’t need to drink to write.

I was hungover again, another heat spell was on—a week of 100 degree days. The drinking went on each night, and in the early mornings and days there was The Stone and the impossibility ...

red summers and black satin charcoal and blood ringing the sheets while snails are stepped on and moths go batty

it’s strange when famous people di… whether they have fought the good… the bad one. it’s strange when famous people di… whether we like them or not

I’m out of matches. the springs in my couch are broken. they stole my footlocker. they stole my oil painting of

women don’t know how to love, she told me. you know how to love but women just want to leech.

and the subnormal. all through grammar school junior high high school junior college

The Stone’s favorite carrier was Matthew Battles. Battles never came in with a wrinkled shirt on. In fact, everything he wore was new, looked new. The shoes, the shirts, the pants, the ...

That evening the phone rang. It was Mercedes. I had met her after giving a poetry reading at Venice Beach. She was about 28, fair body, pretty good legs, a blonde about 5~feet-5, a blue...

a house with 7 or 8 people living in it getting up the rent. there’s a stereo never used and a set of bongos

Shirley came to town with a broken… and met the Chicano who smoked long slim cigars and they got a place together on Beacon street

sometimes I forget about him and h… innocence, almost idiotic, awkward… he liked walking over bridges and… to night I think about him, the wa… one felt space between his lines,…

saw him sitting in a lobby chair in the Patrick Hotel dreaming of flying fish and he said “hello friend you’re looking good.