#AmericanWriters
no one is sorry I am leaving, not even I; but there should be a minstrel or at least a glass of wine. bothers the young most, I think:
half-past nowhere alone in the crumbling tower of myself stumbling in this the
her shoes themselves would light my room like many candles. she walks like all things shining on glass,
when I was in grammar school my parents were poor and in my lunch bag there was only a peanut butter sandwich.
the blue pencil of the wave shots of yellow road a steering wheel an insane woman sitting next to you
I’m big I suppose that’s why my women alwa… small but this 6 foot goddess who deals in real estate
swans die in the Spring too and there it floated dead on a Sunday sideways circling in the current
Katherine stayed 4 or 5 more days. We had reached the time of the month when it was risky for Katherine to fuck. I couldn’t stand rubbers. Katherine got some contraceptive foam. Meanwhi...
listening to Wagner as outside in the dark the wind bl… trees wave and shake lights go off and on the walls creak and the… bed...
with an Apple Macintosh you can’t run Radio Shack program… in its disc drive. nor can a Commodore 64 drive read a file
the telephone has not been kind of… of late there have been more and m… from people who want to come over… from people who are depressed from people who are lonely
the lilies storm my brain by god by god like nazi storm troopers! do you think I’m going tizzy?
death wants more death, and its we… I remember my father’s garage, how… I would brush the corpses of flies from the windows they thought were… their sticky, ugly, vibrant bodies
Then Joyce wanted to go back to the city. For all the draw– backs, that little town, haircuts or not, beat city life. It was quiet. We had our own house. Joyce fed me well.) Plenty of m...
Meanwhile, there was still Joyce, and her geraniums, and a couple of million if I could hang on. Joyce and the flies and the geraniums. I worked the night shift, 12 hours, and she pawed...