#1993 #AmericanWriters #ThePleasuresOfTheDamned
she had huge thighs and a very good laugh she laughed at everything and the curtains were yellow and I finished
cleaned my place the other day first time in ten years and found 100 rejected poems: fastened them all to a clipboard much bad reading.
Meanwhile, there was still Joyce, and her geraniums, and a couple of million if I could hang on. Joyce and the flies and the geraniums. I worked the night shift, 12 hours, and she pawed...
I awakened to dryness and the fern… the potted plants yellow as corn; my woman was gone and the empty bottles like bled co… surrounded me with their uselessne…
I met her somehow through correspo… and she began sending me very sexy… and this being mixed in with a min… confused me somewhat and I got in… through the mountains and valleys…
The Stone’s favorite carrier was Matthew Battles. Battles never came in with a wrinkled shirt on. In fact, everything he wore was new, looked new. The shoes, the shirts, the pants, the ...
I can remember starving in a small room in a strange city shades pulled down, listening to classical music I was young I was so young it hur…
dying for a beer dying for and of life on a windy afternoon in Hollywood listening to symphony music from m… on the floor.
one of Lorca’s best lines is, “agony, always agony ...” think of this when you
he sat naked and drunk in a room o… night, running the blade of the kn… under his fingernails, smiling, th… of all the letters he had received telling him that
the droll noon where squadrons of worms creep up like stripteasers to be raped by blackbirds. I go outside
That Tuesday night we were sitting at my place drinking; Tammie, me and her brother, Jay. The phone rang. It was Bobby. “Louie and his wife are down here and she’d like to meet you.” Lo...
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
in the winter walking on my ceiling my eyes the size of street… I have 4 feet like a mouse but wash my own underwear—bearded and hungover and a hard-on and no lawy…
see this poem? was written without drinking. don’t need to drink to write.