#1977 #AmericanWriters #LoveIsADogFromHell
they took my man off the street the other day he wore an L.A. Rams sweatshirt w… the sleeves cut off
this man used to be an interesting writer, he was able to say brisk and refreshing things. at the time
she drives into the parking lot wh… I am leaning up against the fender… she’s drunk and her eyes are wet w… “you son of a bitch, you fucked me… didn’t want to. you told me to kee…
Our man was there to meet us, Gary Benson. He also wrote poetry and drove a cab. He was very fat but at least he didn’t look like a poet, he didn’t look North Beach or East Village or l...
she wrote me a letter from a small room near the Seine. she said she was going to dancing class, she got up, she said at 5 o’clock in the morning
suppose like others have come through fire and sword, love gone wrong, head-on crashes, drunk at sea, and I have listened to the simple…
Times were still hard. Nobody was any more surprised than I when Mears– Starbuck phoned and asked me to report to work the next Monday. I had gone all around town putting in dozens of a...
she was in her orange Volks waitin… as I walked up the street with 2 six packs and a pint of sco… and she jumped out and began grabbing the beerbottles…
rose red sunlight; take it apart in the garage like a puzzle:
have we gone wrong again? we laugh less and less, become more sadly sane. all we want is the absence of others.
and the subnormal. all through grammar school junior high high school junior college
I only met one student at City College that I liked, Robert Becker. He wanted to be a writer. “I’m going to learn everything there is to learn about writing. It will be like taking a ca...
invent yourself and then reinvent… don’t swim in the same slough. invent yourself and then reinvent… and stay out of the clutches of medioc…
That night I gave another bad reading. I didn’t care. They didn’t care. If John Cage could get one thousand dollars for eating an apple, I’d accept $500 plus air fare for being a lemon....
we take what we can see— the engines driving us mad, lovers finally hating; this fish in the market staring upward into our minds;