#AmericanWriters
washed—up, on shore, the old yello… out again I write from the bed as I did last year.
I used to know a dutchman in a Ph… he’d take 3 raw eggs in his beer, 71, still working, strong,
in the slow Mexican air I watched… and they cut off his ear, and his… no more terror than a rock. driving back the next day we stopp… and watched the golden red and blu…
the strong men the muscle men there they sit down at the beach cocoa tans
it beats love because there aren’t… wounds: in the morning she turns on the radio, Brahms or… or Stravinsky or Mozart. she boil… eggs counting the seconds out loud…
very tall girl lifts her nose at m… outside a supermarket as if I were a walking garbage can; and I had no desire for her, no more desire
let me speak as a friend although the centuries hang between us and neither you nor I can see the moon. be careful less the onion blind th…
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
you’re a beast, she said your big white belly and those hairy feet. you never cut your nails and you have fat hands
my goldfish stares with watery eye… into the hemisphere of my sorrow; upon the thinnest of threads we hang together, hang hang hang
I forget the beginning time. 6 or 7 p.m. Something like that. All you did was sit with a handful of letters, take a streetmap and figure your run. It was easy. All the drivers took much...
The jew bent over and died. 99 machine guns were shipped to France. somebody w… while I inspected the propeller of an old monoplane
drunk and writing poems at 3 a.m. what counts now is one more tight
all right, while we are gently cel… and while crazy classical music le… my small radio, I light a fresh ci… and realize that I am still very m… the 21st century is almost upon me…
like in a chair the color of the s… as you listen to lazy piano music and the aircraft overhead are not at war. where the last drink is as good as