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My story begins where so many have ended, strapped fast to a cold table, just moments from a lobotomy needle and anything resembling the man that I am.
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there is a tunnel / between your skin and the ground / for kisses to crawl
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I'm not sure if he's right or not but he has a gorgeous smile, he's charmingly self confident, and he's very persuasive.
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As a child I drowned myself in the pages of books, and as a writer I prefer to be left alone with my imagination.
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I hand one of them the octopus and run out of the room.
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Jim Morrison moved
ever so slightly
in the cold of his grave
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I visited his loft last week. There were many exciting new pictures. Francesco was your main money earner before, now he will be again.
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There's a witch in Laurel Canyon.She made Wes a promise.Her bungalow smelled like Parliaments. Parliaments, garlic frying in olive oil. Parliaments, garlic frying in olive, and a freshly opened pack of Red Vines. Wes could have curled up into a ball and fallen asleep on her…
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She was gazing down at her two hands holding the peach seersucker top, but without blinking she saw four hands—ahh, idiot, the mirror! But in the next moment no, it was four hands . . .
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The photograph has no date,but these are my long-ago kin,ancestors just before the boat,six stone-faced on the English shore,sepia on cardstock under glassstill clear in severe, dark clothesexcept one who has been markedout, maybe with black wax,which runs to the bottom…
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But that last night in Europe, getting ready to fly out of Amsterdam back to the States, I heard this Phil Collins song, “In the Air Tonight,” which expressed some of the turmoil and confusion and whole-life hysteria I was feeling inside. Waves of fru
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What a great feeling it was, the day I first thought about and discovered how toilets work. Nearly as exciting as the day I learned wheelbarrel is actually spelled wheelbarrow.
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Charley carried the corpse over to the dinghy and tossed it into the pool of rain water collected inside. The headless snake swerved through the water, oblivious to its fate, powered perhaps by exposed nerves and muscle memory.
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“Help us, help us,” the children are saying. “They’ll come back. Help us. They bite.”
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That night I came as close to getting laid as I had ever come in my life, without actually getting laid, after two and a half hours of intense petting, begging her to go down in the front seat of my car, with her asking: Why? Why, Jerry? Why? That was a
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They run nonstop for weeks. Between traffic stalled cars. Down forgotten subways tunnels drilled long ago in the cold earth. Past burning sugarcane fields.
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Swoosh, swoosh, swoosh, swoosh; the rhythmic thrust of Mezereon’s wings…Th-Bumm, th-bumm, th-bumm; the drumming of his heart…Hooou, hooou, hooou; the exhalations of his breath…
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we ran that afternoon/across Bayshore lanes/into green blooming fields, beyond all those
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My businessman does as his nature allows him. He is so cute. All day long he makes deals. He is on his phone most of the time. He raises his voice. “Fuck those fuckers, just do it,” is what he says. My businessman hedges risk on his investments by keeping…
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Frank was happy to leave the art show and take the train back to SoHo.
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It was a mildly windy day of the working week in the financial district of the city—the bright morning sun was out—when a security guard was called to the fifteenth floor to deal with a disruption.
“This way.”
Someone pointed to a desk. At the desk
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I know you through the rich dark brown soilcrumbling in my fingers like chocolate cake.I imagine you nurtured bell-shaped papayas,coaxing their smooth, leathery skinfrom green to yellow,while mangoes, the colors of the island sunset,hung with their tantalizing sweet…
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I was like a bullet shot from a university tower
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Picture it-/
air not clogged with the shit//
that makes Beijing the dark joke/
of the developed world.
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Yesterday I saw Marco Polo getting a tattoo on East Olive. He was practicing Mandarin Chinese with the tattoo artist who was also Chinese. He got a yin yang symbol on his bicep. He looked to the east and saw the hills lift themselves into sky. He grimaced
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I’m just your ordinary poem,
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What do you mean dope in the front seat. I always keep my dope in the trunk. I mean hey, children DO steal.
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My table offers up the gutted calf/
with carrots and potatoes yanked /
alive and whole
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Like when she said the word 'but', it came out ‘bet’.
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