#1993 #AmericanWriters #ThePleasuresOfTheDamned
when I was in grammar school my parents were poor and in my lunch bag there was only a peanut butter sandwich.
half-past nowhere alone in the crumbling tower of myself stumbling in this the
he walks up to my Volks after I have parked and rocks it back and forth grinning around his
big sloppy wounded dog hit by a car and walking toward the curbing making enormous sounds
Cleo’s going to make it now she’s got her shit together she split with Barney Barney wasn’t good for her she got a bigger apartment
first they used to, he told me, gun and bomb the elephants, you could hear their screams over… but you flew high to bomb the peop… you never saw it,
my goldfish stares with watery eye… into the hemisphere of my sorrow; upon the thinnest of threads we hang together, hang hang hang
light brown stare that dumb blank marvelous light brown stare I’ll take care of it.
she drives into the parking lot wh… I am leaning up against the fender… she’s drunk and her eyes are wet w… “you son of a bitch, you fucked me… didn’t want to. you told me to kee…
The next time you listen to Borod… remember he was just a chemist who wrote music to relax; his house was jammed with peor e: students, artists, drunkards, bur…
neither does this mean the dead are at the door begging bread before
I stop my car at the signal I see her walking past the graveya… as she walks past the iron fence I can see through the iron fence and I see the headstones
I have lain in bed all day but I have written one poem and I am up now looking out the window and like a novelist might say
the pleasures of the damned are limited to brief moments of happiness: like the eyes in the look of a dog… like a square of wax,
the bulls are grand as the side of… and although they kill them for th… it is the bull that burns the fire… and although there are cowardly bu… there are cowardly matadors and co…