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You ask yourself, how can you be living but dead? It is not possible. Yet it can be and it can be slightly reversible, but realistically, for most people, it is not. Living but dead, is walking in the world of the in-between. Standing with one foot on the
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142442
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Frank was happy to leave the art show and take the train back to SoHo.
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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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142441
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We gave our cigarettes names.
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1424106
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The new theaters require C-4 poems
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142462
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Oh, crap! Once you leave your body like that, why do you have to come back down to earth? That’s what I want to know. I remember you wearing English Leather aftershave. Anytime I catch a whiff of it now, it brings back some intense memories!
And I r
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her expressive sigh releasing. Sated. The last of our kind, evolving flightless we remain on the ground, culling through corpulent consumption.
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The roses ask for you when I smell them
They seem to remember your touch more than
others. They can’t bear it when you’re gone
and wonder when you’ll be returning
I am beginning to do the same
I no longer go outdoors to be with them
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142300
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She once told me that cleanliness is next to godliness, but I think everything is next to godliness, if you care enough to pay attention.
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142332
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As far as I can tell, all he eats is wedges of cake
from the plate on top of his blanket as he
lies there in bed, smoking cigarettes and
staring up at the painting of a pile of shoes.
Or else this is a real pile of shoes
building up beside the
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Franz Kafka opens the refrigerator
And removes a bowl of jello
With the face of Bella Abzug in it
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142356
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You say you want a resolution
Well, I got one
Let's start with nothing at all
No logic, no war, no whiskey or bombs
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142321
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You hold me now, and pay attention.
Everything is new.
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Across the placid sea/The only moving ship/
Was eyed by Blackbeard
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Then there was this short little girl, Jo Ann, who had a daughter and was divorced, who lived next door to my buddy Andy. She told me right after we did it one night that she had always wanted to have sex with me when she was growing up, as a teenager, I
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142322
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At the Winslow Funeral Home in Winslow, Arizona, just like in the Eagles’ 70s song “Take It Easy,” only I’m not taking it easy.
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No one knows where the wind comes from, but sure as hell it comes.
The executioner glances round the reception area. Nods to himself. Function versus form. Anodyne, instantly forgettable, like hotel rooms. Perfect.
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14231511
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My father taught me how to solder and that's when I first started to write. Now, when you hold the soldering iron in your hand and depress the trigger, the tip of the gun heats up. Novices uncoil the solder and place it on the hot tip, but that just results in it…
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This day, oh, this day… shoved joy and gratitude in my face, then tossed in beauty and just a touch of grace. A Piping Plover set my sorrows by the side, nabbing morsels when it could, then racing from the tide. Junior Eagle perched…
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142344
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Write me a Will you laughing boy,
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142331
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Ashford Garth Willingsham IV stood looking out at the Gulf of Mexico from his mansion on Longboat Key. In his right hand was a letter from his divorce lawyer, Reynard Foxx...
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142341
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Dragonfly She danced out of the burning rubble, wrapped in a shawl made of iridescent silk. It must have been her grandmother's. Her arms were wings, the silk translucent and fluttering. Fire fell from the sky. Thatched roofs, walls of mud-daubed sticks, the huts…
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The man who put up the clothes line left his kids upstairs at night and came down to my bed.
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got the space heater going in the desert
got a lot of space out there somewhere
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there is a tunnel / between your skin and the ground / for kisses to crawl
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142211
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Like so many high school drugheads I warmed up to Coleridge because he was an dope fiend. If you want to get young men interested in poetry it helps if you lure them to the art through controlled substances.
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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 lay on a table in a cold room in one of those little blue gowns that open in back.
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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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