#AmericanWriters
a single dog walking alone on a hot sidewalk of summer appears to have the power of ten thousand gods.
she died of alcoholism wrapped in a blanket on a deck chair on an ocean steamer.
But there were some good moments. My sometime friend from the neighborhood, Gene, who was a year older than I, had a buddy, Harry Gibson, who had had one professional fight (he’d lost)....
the centerfielder turns rushes back reaches up his glove and
you go for these wenches, she said… you go for these whores, I’ll bore you. I don’t want to be shit on anymore… I said,
I saw her when I was in the left… going east on Sunset. she was sitting with her legs crossed reading a paperback.
There was a gang of us down there. 150 or 200. There were tedious papers to fill out. Then we all stood up and faced the flag. The guy who swore us in was the same guy who had sworn me ...
I have been hanging here headless for so long that the body has forgotten
here I’ll be 55 in a week. what will I write about
I went to my place, started drinking. I snapped on the radio and found some classical music. I got my Coleman lantern out of the closet. I turned out the lights and sat playing with the...
she bent over the side of the bed and opened the portfolio along the side of the wall. we were drinking. she said, “you promised me these
we like to shower afterwards (I like the water hotter than she) and her face is always soft and pe… and she’ll wash me first spread the soap over my balls
the wind blows hard to night and it’s a cold wind and I think about the boys on the row. hope some of them have a bottle
around 2 a.m. in my small room after turning off the poem machine for now
Bobby’s wife worked two nights a week and when she was gone he got on the telephone. I knew that on Tuesday and Thursday nights he would be lonely. It was Tuesday night when the phone r...