The Blackbirds Are Rough Today
lonely as a dry and used orchard Spread over the earth For use and surrender. Shot down like an ex-pug selling Dailies on the corner. Taken by tears like An aging chorus girl Who
Trashcan Lives
the wind blows hard tonight And it’s a cold wind And I think about The boys on the row. I hope some of them have a bottle of Red. It’s when you’re on the
Layover
Making love in the sun, in the morning sun In a hotel room Above the alley Where poor men poke for bottles; Making love in the sun Making love by a carpet redder than
The Most
here comes the fishhead singing Here comes the baked potato in drag Here comes nothing to do all day long Here comes another night of no sleep Here comes the phone wringing the wrong
Luck
once We were young At this Machine. . . Drinking Smoking Typing It was a most Splendid Miraculous Time Still Is Only now Instead of Moving toward Time It Moves toward Us Makes each
Some People
some people never go crazy. Me, sometimes I’ll lie down behind the couch For 3 or 4 days. They’ll find me there. It’s Cherub, they’ll say, and They pour wine down my throat Rub
Hot
she was hot, she was so hot I didn’t want anybody else to have her, And if I didn’t get home on time She’d be gone, and I couldn’t bear that- I’d go mad.
Melancholia
the history of melancholia Includes all of us. Me, I writhe in dirty sheets While staring at blue walls And nothing. I have gotten so used to melancholia That I greet it like an
The Most Beautiful Woman In Town
Cass was the youngest and most beautiful of 5 sisters. Cass was the most beautiful girl In town. 1/2 Indian with a supple and strange body, a snake-like and fiery body with eyes To
Be Kind
we are always asked To understand the other person’s Viewpoint No matter how Out-dated Foolish or Obnoxious. One is asked To view Their total error Their life-waste With Kindliness, Especially if they are Aged.
And The Moon And The Stars And The World
Long walks at night That’s what good for the soul: Peeking into windows Watching tired housewives Trying to fight off Their beer-maddened husbands.
Revolt In The Ranks
I have just spent one-hour-and-a-half Handicapping tomorrow’s Card. When am I going to get at the poems? Well, they’ll just have to wait They’ll have to warm their feet in the Anteroom Where they’ll
Curtain
the final curtain on one of the longest running Musicals ever, some people claim to have Seen it over one hundred times. I saw it on the tv news, that final curtain: Flowers, cheers,
Working Out
Van Gogh cut off his ear Gave it to a Prostitute Who flung it away in Extreme Disgust. Van, whores don’t want Ears They want Money. I guess that’s why you were Such a
A Radio With Guts
it was on the 2nd floor on Coronado Street I used to get drunk And throw the radio through the window While it was playing, and, of course, It would break the glass in