#AmericanWriters
during my worst times on the park benches in the jails or living with whores
these things that we support most… have nothing to do with up, and we do with them out of boredom or fear or money or cracked intelligence;
Bach, I said, he had 20 children. he played the horses during the da… he f—ed at night and drank in the mornings. he wrote music in between.
I can’t have it and you can’t have it and we won’t get it so don’t bet on it
Go to Tibet. Ride a camel. Read the Bible. Dye your shoes blue. Grow a Beard.
drunk on the dark streets of some… it’s night, you’re lost, where’s y… room? you enter a bar to find yourself, order scotch and water.
We are like roses that have never… bloom when we should have bloomed… it is as if the sun has become disgusted with waiting
this head like a saucer decorated with everything as lip to lip we hang in mechanical joy; my hands blaze with arias
at the track today, Father’s Day, each paid admission was entitled to a wallet and each contained a
the history of melancholia includes all of us. me, I writhe in dirty sheets while staring at blue walls and nothing.
yes, they begin out in a willow, I… the starch mountains begin out in… and keep right on going without re… pumas and nectarines somehow these mountains are like
was a truly amazing man he pretended to be rich even though we lived on beans and… when we sat down to eat, he said,
the dream of a man is a whore with a gold tooth and a garter belt, perfumed with false eyebrows
you haven’t lived until you’ve been in a flophouse with nothing but one light bulb
“what?” they say, “you got a computer?” it’s like I have sold out to the enemy. I had no idea so many
