#1993 #AmericanWriters #ThePleasuresOfTheDamned
first of all, I had a hard time, a… locating the parking lot for the b… wasn’t off the main boulevard wher… the cars all driven by merciless k… were doing 55 mph in a 25 mph zone…
twitching in the sheets— to face the sunlight again, that’s clearly trouble. I like the city better when the
you may not believe it but there are people who go through life with very little friction or
yeah sure, I’ll be in unless I’m… don’t knock if the lights are out or you hear voices or then I might be reading Proust if someone slips Proust under my d…
this man sometimes forgets who he is. sometimes he thinks he’s the Pope. other times he thinks he’s a
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,
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...
this head like a saucer decorated with everything as lip to lip we hang in mechanical joy; my hands blaze with arias
My drinking slowed down the next week. I went to the racetrack to get fresh air and sunshine and plenty of walking. At night I drank, wondering why I was still alive, how the scheme wor...
believe in earning one’s own way but I also believe in the unexpect… gift and it is a wondrous thing when a woman who has read your wor…
It was a Wednesday night, 12:30 am and I was very sick. My stomach was raw, but I managed to hold down a few beers. Tammie was with me and she seemed sympathetic. Dancy was at her grand...
Four or five days passed. The phone rang. It was Tammie. “Listen, Hank. You know that little bridge you cross in your car when you drive to my mother’s place?” “Well, right by there the...
I awaken about noon and go out to… in my old torn bathrobe. I’m hung over hair down in my eyes barefoot
We were in the air twenty minutes when she took a mirror out of her purse and began to make up her face, mostly the eyes. She worked at her eyes with a small brush, concentrating on the...
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...