#1973 #AmericanWriters #BurningInWaterDrowningInFlame #CrucifixInADeathhand
the feelings I get driving past the railroad yard never on purpose but on my way to… are the feelings other men have fo… see the tracks and all the boxcars
was much easier to be a genius in… only 3 or 4 literary magazines and… or 5 times you could end up in Ger… you could possibly meet Picasso fo… maybe only Miró.
R.O.T.C. kept me away from sports while the other guys practiced every day. They made the school teams, won their letters and got the girls. My days were spent mostly marching around in...
live alone in a small room and read the newspapers and sleep alone in the dark dreaming of crowds.
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;
had lost the last race big somebody had stolen my coat could feel the flu coming on and my tires were low. I went in to get a
little dark girl with kind eyes when it comes time to use the knife I won’t flinch and
the weather is hot on the back of… which is down at Finkelstein’s who is gifted with 3 balls but no heart, but you’ve got to un… when the bull goes down
Lydia’s sister Angela came to town from Utah to see Lydia’s new house. Lydia had made a down payment on a little place and the monthly payments were very low. It was a very good buy. Th...
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...
see this final storm as nothing ve… the world; there are so many more important t… consider. see this final storm as nothing ve…
“...I’ve seen people in front of their typewriters in such a bind that it would blow their intestine… right out of their assholes if the… were trying to shit.”
swans die in the Spring too and there it floated dead on a Sunday sideways circling in the current
the hearse comes through the room… the beheaded, the disappeared, the… mad. the flies are a glue of sticky pas… their wings will not
what you see is what you see: madhouses are rarely on display. that we still walk about and scratch ourselves and light