#1993 #AmericanWriters #ThePleasuresOfTheDamned
let me speak as a friend although the centuries hang between us and neither you nor I can see the moon. be careful less the onion blind th…
The next day we picked up some of her stuff at this motel. There was a little dark guy in there with a wart on the side of his nose. He looked dangerous. Hector was sitting on the edge ...
I was coming home from classes down Westview hill. I never had any books to carry. I passed my exams by listening to the class lectures and by guessing at the answers. I never had to cr...
good weather is like good women— it doesn’t always happen and when it does
I heard it first while screwing a… who had the biggest box in Scranton. I listened to it again as I wrote… to my mother
the boys come up the boys climb up the brown pole as the waterheater gurgles in Spanish
Phillipe ’s is an old time cafe off Alameda street just a little north and east of the main post office. Phillipe’s opens at 5 a.m.
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...
I have a saying, “the tough ones a… back.” but Vera was kinder than most, and so I was surprised when she arrived that night
To give life you must take life, and as our grief falls flat and ho… upon the billion—blooded sea I pass upon serious inward—breakin… with white—legged, white—bellied r…
my moustache is pasted-on and my wig and my eyebrows and even my eyes... then something stuns me... the lampshades swing, I hear
had it for a year, really put in lot of bedroom time, slept upright on two pillows to keep from coughing, all the blood drained from my head
It was noon the next day when the phone rang. It was Lydia again. I heard a long insane wail like a wolverine shot in the arctic snow and left to bleed and die alone. . . . I slept most...
like in a chair the color of the s… as you listen to lazy piano music and the aircraft overhead are not at war. where the last drink is as good as
there are beasts in the salt shake… and airdromes in the coffeepot. my mother’s hand is in the bag dra… and from the backs of spoons come the cries of tiny tortured animals…