#1993 #AmericanWriters #ThePleasuresOfTheDamned
The voices of the people were the same, no matter where you carried the mail you heard the same things over and over again. “You’re late, aren’t you?” “Where’s the regular carrier?” “He...
I met an old drunk on the street one afternoon. I used to know him from the days with Betty when we made the rounds of the bars. He told me that he was now a postal clerk and that there...
the strong men the muscle men there they sit down at the beach cocoa tans
It was 12 hours a night, plus supervisors, plus clerks, plus the fact that you could hardly breathe in that pack of flesh, plus stale baked food in the “non-profit” cafeteria. Plus the ...
I’m big I suppose that’s why my women alwa… small but this 6 foot goddess who deals in real estate
out of the arms of one love and into the arms of another I have been saved from dying on th… by a lady who smokes pot writes songs and stories,
Well, I took the scheme sheet and I related everything to sex and age. This guy lived in this house with 3 women. He belt-whipped one (her name was the name of the street and her age th...
One morning about 10 a.m. the phon… I recognized the voice and began t… “Yes, yes, Miss Graves, but go on… “So therefore we have notified the… “And you are scheduled to throw yo…
This babe in the grandstand with dyed red hair kept leaning her breasts against me and talking about Gardena poker parlors
A day or so later I got a poem in the mail from Lydia. It was a long poem and it began: Come out, old troll, Come out of your dark hole, old troll, Come out into the sunlight with us an...
it was up in San Francisco after my poetry reading. it had been a nice crowd I had gotten my money I had this place upstairs
Style is the answer to everything. A fresh way to approach a dull or… To do a dull thing with style is p… To do a dangerous thing with style… Bullfighting can be an art
Just give me a little atomic bomb Not too mutch just a little Enough to kill a horse in the stre… But there aren’t any horses in the… Enough to knock the flowers from a…
Born like this Into this As the chalk faces smile As Mrs. Death laughs As the elevators break
dame some dogs who sleep at night must dream of bones and I remember your bones in flesh