#1977 #AmericanWriters #LoveIsADogFromHell
consistency is terrific: shark-mouth grubby interior with an almost perfect body, long blazing hair—
she cut my toenails the night befo… and in the morning she said, “I th… just lay here all day.” which meant she wasn’t going to wo… she was at my apartment—which mean…
One night my father took me on his milk route. There were no longer any horsedrawn wagons. The milk trucks now had engines. After loading up at the milk company we drove off on his rout...
I went to this place to see a movi… on tv Alexander the Great, and here come the armies ta ta ta
The bandages were helpful. L.A. County Hospital had finally come up with something. The boils drained. They didn’t vanish but they flattened a bit. Yet some new ones would appear and ri...
My mother went to her low-paying job each morning and my father, who didn’t have a job, left each morning too. Although most of the neighbors were unemployed he didn’t want them to thin...
luxury ocean liners crossing the water full of the indolent and rich passing from this place to that
there are worse things than being alone but it often takes decades to realize this and most often
Meanwhile, things went on. I had a long run of luck at the racetrack. I began to feel confident out there. You went for a certain profit each day, somewhere between 15 and 40 bucks. You...
stuck in the rain on the freeway,… these are the lucky ones, these ar… dutifully employed, most with thei… as possible as they try not to thi… this is our new civilization: as m…
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...
this woman keeps phoning me even though I tell her I am livin… I love. I keep hearing noises in the envir… she phones,
yes, they begin out in a willow, I… the starch mountains begin out in… and keep right on going without re… pumas and nectarines somehow these mountains are like
he walks up to my Volks after I have parked and rocks it back and forth grinning around his
washed—up, on shore, the old yello… out again I write from the bed as I did last year.