#AmericanWriters
the dead can sleep they don’t get up and rage they don’t have a wife. her white face like a flower in a closed
Soon after that I made regular and that gave me an 8 hour night, which beat 12, and pay for holidays. Of the 150 or 200 that had come in, there were only two of us left. Then I met Davi...
knew you were a bad-ass,” he said. you sat in the back of Art class a… you never said anything. then I saw you in that brutal figh… with the guy with the dirty yellow
over my radio now comes the sound of a truly mad org… can see some monk drunk in a cellar mind gone or found,
listen, man, don’t tell me about t… sent, we didn’t receive them, we are very careful with manuscrip… we bake them burn them
there are many single women in the… with one or two or three children and one wonders where the husbands have gone or where the lovers have gone
A week later I was driving down Hollywood Boulevard with Lydia. A weekly entertainment newspaper published in California at that time had asked me to write an article on the life of the...
Wednesday night found me at the airport waiting for Iris. I sat around and looked at the women. None of them—except for one or two—looked as good as Iris. There was something wrong with...
the other day I’m out at the track betting Early Bird that’s when you bet at the track before it opens)
majestic, magic infinite my little girl is sun on the carpet—
I think of automobiles parked in a parking lot when I think of myself dead I think of frying pans when I think of myself dead
at the track today, Father’s Day, each paid admission was entitled to a wallet and each contained a
They don’t make it the beautiful die in flame— suicide pills, rat poison, rope wh… ever... they rip their arms off,
the feelings I get driving past the railroad yard never on purpose but on my way to… are the feelings other men have fo… see the tracks and all the boxcars
I know that some night in some bedroom soon my fingers will rift