#1977 #AmericanWriters #LoveIsADogFromHell
he spoke to mice and sparrows and his hair was white at the age… his father beat him every day and… lit candles in the church. his grandmother came while the boy…
there are these small cliffs above the sea and it is night, late night; I have been unable to sleep, and with my car above me
in grievous deity my cat walks around he walks around and around with electric tail and
the elephants are caked with mud a… and the rhinos don’t move the zebras are stupid dead stems and the lions don’t roar the lions don’t care
this man used to be an interesting writer, he was able to say brisk and refreshing things. at the time
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.
this is my piano. the phone rings and people ask, what are you doing? how about getting drunk with us? and I say,
she sits up there drinking wine while her husband is at work. she puts quite
This babe in the grandstand with dyed red hair kept leaning her breasts against me and talking about Gardena poker parlors
The next thing I knew, I had a young girl from Texas on my lap. I won’t go into details of how I met her. Anyway, there it was. She was 23. I was 36. She had long blonde hair and was go...
she undressed in front of me keeping her pussy to the front while I lay in bed with a bottle o… beer. where’d you get that wart on
here I am in the ground my mouth open and
washed—up, on shore, the old yello… out again I write from the bed as I did last year.
The next time you listen to Borod… remember he was just a chemist who wrote music to relax; his house was jammed with peor e: students, artists, drunkards, bur…
dying has its rough edge. no escaping now. the warden has his eye on me. his bad eye. I’m doing hard time now.