#AmericanWriters
the illusion is that you are simpl… reading this poem. the reality is that this is more than a poem.
my grandfather was a tall German with a strange smell on his breath… he stood very straight in front of his small house and his wife hated him
once bought a toy rabbit at a department store and now he sits and ponders me with pink sheer eyes: He wants golf balls and glass
I had been corresponding with Tanya and on the evening of January 5th she phoned. She had a high excited sexy voice like Betty Boop used to have. “I’m flying down tomorrow evening. Will...
It’s never quite right, he said, t… the way the music sounds, the way… written. It’s never quite right, he said, a… taught, all the loves we chase, al…
he lives in a house with a swimmin… and says the job is killing him. he is 27. I am 44. I can’t seem t… get rid of
So I took the exam, passed it, took the physical, passed it, and there I was—a substitute mail carrier. It began easy. I was sent to West Avon Station and it was just like Christmas exc...
I didn’t contest the divorce, didn’t go to court. Joyce gave me the car. She didn’t drive. All I had lost was 3 or 4 million. But I still had the post office. “I saw you with that bitch...
Cecelia sat and watched us drink. I could see that I repulsed her. I ate meat. I had no god. I liked to fuck. Nature didn’t interest me. I never voted. I liked wars. Outer space bored m...
Hugo Wolf went mad while eating a… and writing his 253rd song; it was… April and the worms came out of th… humming Tannhäuser, and he spilled… with his ink, and his blood fell o…
love, he said, gas kiss me off kiss my lips kiss my hair my fingers
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...
“It’s the manager, Freddy. He has started whistling this song. He’s whistling it when I come in in the morning and he never stops, and he’s whistling it when I go home at night. It’s be...
see this poem? was written without drinking. don’t need to drink to write.
I’m soft. I dream too. I let myself dream. I dream of being famous. I dream of walking the streets of London and