#1977 #AmericanWriters #LoveIsADogFromHell
he got knifed in broad daylight, c… holding his hands over his gut, dr… on the pavement. nobody waiting in line left their… he made it to the Mission doorway,…
there are worse things than being alone but it often takes de cades to realize this and most often
the problem, of course, isn’t the… it’s the living parts which make up the Dem… the next person you pass on the st… multiply
writer great writer remains in bed shades down doesn’t want to see anyone doesn’t want to write anymore
there is enough treachery, hatred… human being to supply any given ar… and the best at murder are those w… and the best at hate are those who… and the best at war finally are th…
I took my girlfriend to your last poetry reading, she said “yes”, “yes?” I asked. "she`s young and pretty",
it was on the 2nd floor on Coronad… I used to get drunk and throw the radio through the wi… while it was playing, and, of cour… it would break the glass in the wi…
3 small boys run toward me blowing whistles and they scream you’re under arrest! you’re drunk!
Long walks at night— that’s what good for the soul: peeking into windows watching tired housewives trying to fight off
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 ...
sleepy now at 4 a.m. hear the siren of a white ambulance,
I walked into the counselor’s office. It was Eddie Beaver sitting behind the desk. The clerks called him “Skinny Beaver.” He had a pointed head, pointed nose, pointed chin. He was all p...
I remember the Model-T. Sitting high, the running boards seemed friendly, and on cold days, in the mornings, and often at other times, my father had to fit the hand-crank into the front...
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...
I sit here on the 2nd floor hunched over in yellow pajamas still pretending to be a writer.