starving there, sitting around the
and at night walking the streets f
hours,
the moonlight always seemed fake
to me, maybe it was,

lonely as a dry and used orchard
spread over the earth
for use and surrender.
shot down like an ex—pug selling
dailies on the corner.

by God, I don’t know what to
do.
they’re so nice to have around.
they have a way of playing with
the balls

it
takes
a lot of
desperation
dissatisfaction

I took my girlfriend
to your last poetry reading,
she said “yes”,
“yes?” I asked.
"she`s young and pretty",

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

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

some people never go crazy.
me, sometimes I’ll lie down behind
for 3 or 4 days.
they’ll find me there.
it’s Cherub, they’ll say, and

of course, I may die in the next t
and I’m ready for that
but what I’m really worried about
that my editor—publisher might ret
even though he is ten years younge

stuck in the rain on the freeway,
these are the lucky ones, these ar
dutifully employed, most with thei
as possible as they try not to thi
this is our new civilization: as m