#1993 #AmericanWriters #ThePleasuresOfTheDamned
murdered in the alleys of the land frost-bitten against flagpoles pawned by females educated in the dark for the dark vomiting into plugged toilets
Wagner wasn’t done with us. I was standing in the yard during gym class when he walked up to me. “I’m putting you on garbage detail until further notice.” The kids had to work off their...
Making love in the sun, in the mor… in a hotel room above the alley where poor men poke for bottles; making love in the sun
Lydia liked parties. And Harry was a party-giver. So we were on our way to Harry Ascot’s. Harry was the editor of Retort, a little magazine. His wife wore long see-through dresses, show...
majestic, majic infinite my little girl is sun on the carpet—
I feel gypped by dunces as if reality were the property of little men with luck and a headstart, and I sit in the cold
our marriage book, it says. I look through it. they lasted ten years. they were young once.
I had just won $115 from the heads… was naked upon my bed listening to an opera by one of th… and had just gotten rid of a very… when there was a knock upon the wo…
This is advance notice that it is proposed to suspend you from duty without pay for 3 days or to take such other disciplinary action as may be determined to be appropriate. The proposed...
On the elevator up, I was the only white man there. It seemed strange. They talked about the riots, not looking at me. “Jesus,” said a coal black guy, "it’s really something. These guys...
A sound awakened me. It was not quite daylight. Cecelia was moving around getting dressed. I looked at my watch. “I want to watch the sun come up. I love sunrises!” “I haven’t been able...
hooray say the roses, today is bla… and we are red as blood. hooray say the roses, today is Wed… and we bloom wher soldiers fell and lovers too,
This babe in the grandstand with dyed red hair kept leaning her breasts against me and talking about Gardena poker parlors
she was sitting in the window of room 1010 at the Chelsea in New York, Janis Joplin’s old room. it was 104 degrees
drinking German beer and trying to come up with the immortal poem at 5 p.m. in the afternoon. but, ah, I’ve told the