#1973 #AmericanWriters #AtTerrorStreetAndAgonyWay #BurningInWaterDrowningInFlame
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…
I could see the road ahead of me. I was poor and I was going to stay poor. But I didn’t particularly want money. I didn’t know what I wanted. Yes, I did. I wanted someplace to hide out,...
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;
he’s a runt he snarls and scratches chases cars groans in his sleep and has a perfect star above each…
in the hospitals I’ve been in you see the crosses on the walls with the thin palm leaves behind t… yellowed and browned it is the signal to accept the ine…
the wind blows hard to night and it’s a cold wind and I think about the boys on the row. hope some of them have a bottle
Thanks for the good letter. I don’t think it hurts, sometimes, to remember where you came from. You know the places where I came from. Even the people who try to write about that or mak...
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)....
rose red sunlight; take it apart in the garage like a puzzle:
One night I was coming around the corner after sneaking down to the cafeteria for a pack of smokes. And there was a face I knew. It was Tom Moto! The guy I had subbed with under The Sto...
Then I started attending Mt. Justin Jr. High. About half the guys from Delsey Grammar School went there, the biggest and toughest half. Another gang of giants came from other schools. O...
“what?” they say, “you got a computer?” it’s like I have sold out to the enemy. I had no idea so many
escape from the black widow spider is a miracle as great as art. what a web she can weave slowly drawing you to her she’ll embrace you
the illusion is that you are simpl… reading this poem. the reality is that this is more than a poem.
another bed another woman more curtains another bathroom another kitchen