listening to an opera by one of the Italiansand had just gotten rid of a very loose ladywhen there was a knock upon the wood,and since the cops had just raided a month or so ago,I screamed out rather on edge—who the hell is it? what you want, man?I’m your publisher! somebody screamed back,and I…
greatnessyouwonder wherethe real ones arewhatgiant cavehides themasthe deathly talentlessbow toaccoladesasthe fools arefooledagainyouwonder wherethe real ones areif there arereal ones.thisself-congratulatory nonsensehas lasteddecadesandwith some exceptionscenturies.this< br>is so drearyis so absolutely pitilessitchurns the gut topowdershackles hopeitmakes little thingslikepulling up a shadeorputting on your shoesorwalking out on the streetmore difficultneardamnableasthe famous gather toapplaud theirseeminggreatnessasthe fools arefooledagainhumanityyou sickmother*****.
the phone rings, the cats sleep.Linda vacuums.I am waiting to live,waiting to die.I wish I could ring in some bravery.it’s a lousy fixbut the tree outside doesn’t know:I watch it moving with the windin the late afternoon sun.there’s nothing to declare here,just a waiting.each faces it alone.Oh, I was once young,Oh, I was once unbelievablyyoung!
between you andimpossibility.no drink,no woman’s love,no wealthcanmatch it.
scrubbed and waxed the kitchen floorscrubbed the wallsvacuumedcleaned the toiletthe bathtubscrubbed the bathroom floorand cut my toenails andmy hair.thenall on the same daythe plumber came and fixed the kitchen faucetand the toiletand the gas man fixed the heaterand the phone man fixed the phone.noe I sit in all this perfection.it is quiet.I have broken off…
quickly:the cat, the woman, the job,the front tire,the bed, the walls, theroom; all our necessitiesincluding love,rest on foundations of sand –and any given cause,no matter how unrelated:the death of a boy in Hong Kongor a blizzard in Omaha …can serve as your undoing.all your chinaware crashing to thekitchen floor, your girl will enterand you’ll be…
it is as ifthe sun has become disgusted withwaiting
when I was a young manI felt these things weredumb, unsophisticated.I had bad blood, a twistedmind, a precariousupbringing.I was hard as granite, Ileered at thesun.I trusted no man andespecially nowoman.I was living a hell insmall rooms, I brokethings, smashed things,walked through glass,cursed.I challenged everything,was continually beingevicted, jailed, in andout of fights, in and outof my…
don’t ever get the idea I am a poet; you can see meat the racetrack any day half drunkbetting quarters, sidewheelers and straight thoroughs,but let me tell you, there are some women therewho go where the money goes, and sometimes when youlook at these whores these onehundreddollar whoresyou wonder sometimes if nature isn’t playing a…
