#1993 #AmericanWriters #ThePleasuresOfTheDamned
twitching in the sheets— to face the sunlight again, that’s clearly trouble. I like the city better when the
the other day I’m out at the track betting Early Bird that’s when you bet at the track before it opens)
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
around 2 a.m. in my small room after turning off the poem machine for now
I’d tell them to have an unhappy l… affair, hemorrhoids, bad teeth and to drink cheap wine, avoid opera and golf and chess, to keep switching the head of thei…
I read that he lost a suitcase ful… train and that they never were rec… I can’t match the agony of this but the other night I wrote a 3—pa… upon this computer
Sara was preparing the turkey dressing and I sat in the kitchen talking to her. We were both sipping white wine. The phone rang. I went and got it. It was Debra. “I just wanted to wish ...
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 ...
A month went by. R.A. Dwight, the editor of Dogbite Press wrote and asked me to do a foreword to Keesing’s Selected Poems. Keesing, with the help of his death, was at last going to get ...
have we gone wrong again? we laugh less and less, become more sadly sane. all we want is the absence of others.
I read last Saturday in the redwoods outside of Santa Cruz and I was about 3/4's finished when I heard a long high scream and a quite attractive
the motion of the human heart: strangled over Missouri; sheathed in hot wax in Boston; burned like a potato in Norfolk; lost in the Allegheny Mountains;
The reading in Vancouver went through, $500 plus air fare and lodging. The sponsor, Bart Mcintosh, was nervous about crossing the border. I was to fly to Seattle, he’d meet me there and...
The first thing I remember is being under something. It was a table, I saw a table leg, I saw the legs of the people, and a portion of the tablecloth hanging down. It was dark under the...
see this poem? was written without drinking. don’t need to drink to write.