#1993 #AmericanWriters #ThePleasuresOfTheDamned
I would, of course, prefer to be w… instead of with a photograph of an… to the sound of the anvil chorus a… girls kicking high, showing everyt… but I might as well be dead right…
But then it began raining again. The Stone had me out on a thing called Sunday Collection, and if you’re thinking of church, forget it. You picked up a truck at West Garage and a clipbo...
there are worse things than being alone but it often takes decades to realize this and most often
our marriage book, it says. I look through it. they lasted ten years. they were young once.
you no faces no faces at all laughing at nothing—
16 and one-half inch neck 68 years old lifts weights body like a young
But there were some good moments. My sometime friend from the neighborhood, Gene, who was a year older than I, had a buddy, Harry Gibson, who had had one professional fight (he’d lost)....
these women are supposed to come and see me but they never do. there’s the one with the long scar…
They don’t make it the beautiful die in flame— suicide pills, rat poison, rope wh… ever... they rip their arms off,
we take what we can see— the engines driving us mad, lovers finally hating; this fish in the market staring upward into our minds;
the German hotel was very strange… double doors to the rooms, very th… looked the park and the vasser ter… it was usually too late for breakf… would be everywhere changing sheet…
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
knew you were a bad-ass,” he said. you sat in the back of Art class a… you never said anything. then I saw you in that brutal figh… with the guy with the dirty yellow
I phoned Joyce. “How’s it working with Purple Sti… “What did he do when you told him… “We were sitting across from each… “What happened?”
the motion of the human heart: strangled over Missouri; sheathed in hot wax in Boston; burned like a potato in Norfolk; lost in the Allegheny Mountains;