#AmericanWriters
It’s never quite right, he said, t… the way the music sounds, the way… written. It’s never quite right, he said, a… taught, all the loves we chase, al…
this fear of being what they are: dead. at least they are not out on the s… are careful to stay indoors, those pasty mad who sit alone before the…
during my worst times on the park benches in the jails or living with whores
Van Gogh cut off his ear gave it to a prostitute who flung it away in extreme
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
call it the greenhouse effect or w… but it just doesn’t rain like it u… I particularly remember the rains… depression era. there wasn’t any money but there w…
you may not believe it but there are people who go through life with very little friction or
225 days under grass and you know more than I. they have long taken your blood, you are a dry stick in a basket. is this how it works?
the illusion is that you are simpl… reading this poem. the reality is that this is more than a poem.
Making love in the sun, in the mor… in a hotel room above the alley where poor men poke for bottles; making love in the sun
To give life you must take life, and as our grief falls flat and ho… upon the billion—blooded sea I pass upon serious inward—breakin… with white—legged, white—bellied r…
one of Lorca’s best lines is, “agony, always agony ...” think of this when you
hooray say the roses, today is bla… and we are red as blood. hooray say the roses, today is Wed… and we bloom wher soldiers fell and lovers too,
out of the arm of one love and into the arms of another I have been saved from dying on th… by a lady who smokes pot writes songs and stories
here I am in the ground my mouth open and