#AmericanWriters
La voyageuse qui traverse les Hal… Marchait sur la pointe des pieds Le désespoir roulait au ciel ses g… Et dans le sac à main il y avait… Que seule a respiré la marraine de…
Driving through hot brushy country the late autumn, I saw a hawk crucified on a
We left Little Redfish for Lake Josephus, traveling along the good names ' from Stanley to Capehorn to Seafoam to the Rapid River, up Float Creek, past the Greyhound Mine and then to ...
Ah, you’re just a copy of all the candy bars I’ve ever eaten.
Hinged to forgetfulness like a door, she slowly closed out of sight, and she was the woman I loved,
I feel horrible. She doesn’t love me and I wander around like a sewing machine that’s just finished sewing a turd to a garbage can lid.
ZAP! unlaid / 20 days
Yup. A long lazy September look in the mirror say it’s true. I’m 31
WITNESS FOR TROUT FISHI… IN AMERICA PEACE In San Francisco around Easter t… trout fishing in America peace par… of red stickers printed and they p…
I like to think (and the sooner the better!) of a cybernetic meadow where mammals and computers live together in mutually
There are no postage stamps that s… back to England three centuries ag… no postage stamps that make letter… travel back until the grave hasn’t… and John Donne stands looking out…
Do you think of me as often as I think of you?
THE AUTOPSY OF TROUT FISHING IN AMERICA This is the autopsy of Trout Fish… Fishing in America had been Lord… Missolonghi, Greece, and afterwar…
It’s a star that looks like a poker game above the mountains of eastern Oregon. There are three men playing.
With the rain falling surgically against the roof, I ate a dish of ice cream that looked like Kafka’s hat.