#1993 #AmericanWriters #ThePleasuresOfTheDamned
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…
There was another German Shepherd. It was hot summer and he came BOUNDING out of a back yard and then LEAPED through the air. His teeth snapped, just missing my jugular vein. “OH JESUS!...
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…
ah, Merryman, fighter on the docks, killed a man while they were unloa… bananas. mean the man he killed
Lila Jane was a girl my age who lived next door. I still wasn’t allowed to play with the children in the neighborhood, but sitting in the bedroom often got dull. I would go out and walk...
the pleasures of the damned are limited to brief moments of happiness: like the eyes in the look of a dog… like a square of wax,
he met her at the racetrack, a str… blonde with round hips, well-bosom… turned-up nose, flower mouth, in a… wearing white high-heeled shoes. she began asking him questions abo…
I see you drinking at a fountain w… blue hands, no, your hands are not… they are small, and the fountain i… where you wrote me that last lette… I answered and never heard from yo…
blue fish, the blue night, a blue… everything is blue. and my cats are blue: blue fur, bl… blue whiskers, blue eyes. my bed lamp shines
sit on this bench and look at the sea and the freaks and the lovers. need new eyes a new mouth new pillows, a new woman.
she bent over the side of the bed and opened the portfolio along the side of the wall. we were drinking. she said, “you promised me these
a poem is a city filled with stree… filled with saints, heroes, beggar… filled with banality and booze, filled with rain and thunder and p… drought, a poem is a city at war,
they’d come around and they’d ask “you finished your 2nd novel yet?” “no.”
when I look back now at the abuse I took from her I feel shame that I was so innocent,
take a writer away from his typewr… and all you have left is the sickness which started him