#AmericanWriters
we are gathered here now to bury her in this poem. she did not marry an unemployed wi… beat her every
it sits outside my window now like and old woman going to market… it sits and watches me, it sweats nevously through wire and fog and dog—bark
The next night Bobby and Valerie came over. They had recently moved into my apartment building and now lived across the court. Bobby had on his tight knit shirt. Everything always fitte...
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
takes lot of desperation dissatisfaction and
red hair real she whirled it and she asked “is my ass still on?”
Curly Wagner picked out Morris Moscowitz. It was after school and eight or ten of us guys had heard about it and we walked out behind the gym to watch. Wagner laid down the rules, “We f...
in the earliest possible day in the blue-headed noon I will telegraph you a boney hand decorated with
The phone rang the next morning. Lydia had gone back to her place. It was Bobby, the kid who lived in the next block and worked in the porno bookstore. “Mindy’s down here. She wants you...
I was hungover again, another heat spell was on—a week of 100 degree days. The drinking went on each night, and in the early mornings and days there was The Stone and the impossibility ...
the blue pencil of the wave shots of yellow road a steering wheel an insane woman sitting next to you
16 years old during the depression I’d come home drunk and all my clothing— shorts, shirts, stockings—
the balance is preserved by the sn… the Santa Monica cliffs; the luck is in walking down Wester… and having the girls in a massage parlor holler at you, “Hello, Swe…
I could see the road ahead of me. I was poor and I was going to stay poor. But I didn’t particularly want money. I didn’t know what I wanted. Yes, I did. I wanted someplace to hide out,...