#AmericanWriters
dogs and angels are not very different. I often go to this place to eat about 2:30 in the afternoon
John F. Kennedy flower knocks upo… shot through the neck; the gladiolas gather by the dozens… India dripping into Ceylon;
are we going to the movies or not? she asked him. all right, he said, let’s go. I’m not going to put any pan ties… so you can finger-fuck me in the
the men phone and ask me that. are you really Charles Bukowski the writer? they ask. I’m a sometimes writer, I say, most often I don’t do anything.
she sits up there drinking wine while her husband is at work. she puts quite
there are worse things than being alone but it often takes decades to realize this and most often
You had to fill out more papers to get out than to get in. The first page they gave you was a personalized mimeo affair from the postmaster of the city. It began: “I am sorry you are te...
Vallejo writing about loneliness while starving to death; Van Gogh’s ear rejected by a whore;
this man sometimes forgets who he is. sometimes he thinks he’s the Pope. other times he thinks he’s a
16 and one-half inch neck 68 years old lifts weights body like a young
waiting for death like a cat that will jump on the bed I am so very sorry for
16 years old during the depression I’d come home drunk and all my clothing— shorts, shirts, stockings—
first time my father overheard me… this bit of music he asked me, “what is it?” “it’s called Love For Three Oran… I informed him.
That evening the phone rang. It was Mercedes. I had met her after giving a poetry reading at Venice Beach. She was about 28, fair body, pretty good legs, a blonde about 5~feet-5, a blue...
there waas a rock-and-mud slide on the Pacific Coast Highway and… detour and they directed us up int… and traffic was slow and it was ho… we were lost.