#1977 #AmericanWriters #LoveIsADogFromHell
After English class one day Mrs. Curtis asked me to stay. She had great legs and a lisp and there was something about the legs and the lisp together that heated me up. She was about 32,...
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...
he met her at the racetrack, a str… blonde with round hips, well-bosom… turned-up nose, flower mouth, in a… wearing white high-heeled shoes. she began asking him questions abo…
you consult psychiatrists and phil… when things aren’t going well and whores when they are. the whores are there for young boy… men; to the young boys they say,
listen, he said, you ever seen a b… bucket? no, I told him. well, what happens is that now and… will climb up on top of the others
death wants more death, and its we… I remember my father’s garage, how… I would brush the corpses of flies from the windows they thought were… their sticky, ugly, vibrant bodies
Then Joyce wanted to go back to the city. For all the draw– backs, that little town, haircuts or not, beat city life. It was quiet. We had our own house. Joyce fed me well.) Plenty of m...
I been readin’ you for a long time… I just put Billy Boy to bed, he got 7 mean ticks from somewhere… I got 2, my husband, Benny, he got 3.
in San Francisco the landlady, 80… Victrola up the stairway and I pl… until they beat on the walls. there was a large bucket in the ce… filled with beer and winebottles;
Long walks at night— that’s what good for the soul: peeking into windows watching tired housewives trying to fight off
this is my piano. the phone rings and people ask, what are you doing? how about getting drunk with us? and I say,
not much chance, completely cut loose from purpose, he was a young man riding a bus
the guy in the front court can’t speak English, he’s Greek, a rather stupid-looking and fairly ugly man. now my landlord does some painting…
I had Fridays and Saturdays off, which made Sunday the roughest day. Plus the fact that on Sunday they made me report at 3:30 p.m. instead of my usual 6:18 p.m. This Sunday I went in an...
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...