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sweating and kissing and working

but we made it all right; but I mean,

after all that suffering…

we were at my place finally

that next afternoon

doing the same thing.

those weren’t bad cops though

that night in the park—

and it’s the first time I ever said that

about cops,

and,

I hope,

the last time I ever have

to.

T.M.

she lived in Galveston and was into

T.M.

and I went down to visit her and we made love

continually even though it was very warm

weather

and we took mescalin

and we took the ferry to the island

and drove 200 miles to the nearest

racetrack.

we both won and sat in a redneck bar—

disliked and distrusted by the natives—

and then we went to a redneck motel

and came back a day or two later

and I stayed another week

painted her a couple of good paintings—

one of a man being hanged

and another of a woman being fucked by a wolf.

I awakened one night and she wasn’t in bed

and I got up and walked around saying,

“Gloria, Gloria, where are you?”

it was a large place and I walked around

opening door after door,

and then I opened what looked like a closet door

and there she was on her knees

surrounded by photographs of

7 or 8 men

heads shaved

most of them wearing rimless spectacles.

there was a small candle burning

and I said, “oh, I’m sorry.”

Gloria was dressed in a kimono with flying

eagles on the back of it.

I closed the door and went back to bed.

she came out in 15 minutes.

we began kissing,

her large tongue sliding in and out of my

mouth.

she was a large healthy Texas girl.

“listen, Gloria,” I finally managed to say,

“I need a night off.”

the next day she drove me to the airport.

I promised to write. she promised to write.

neither of us has written.

Bee’s 5th

I heard it first while screwing a blonde

who had the biggest box in

Scranton.

I listened to it again as I wrote a letter

to my mother

asking for 5,000 dollars

and she mailed back

3 bottletops and

the stems of grandpop’s

forefingers.

The 5th will kill you

in the grass or at the track,

the kitten said,

walking across the popinjay

rug.

if the 5th don’t kill you

the tenth will,

said the Caliente hooker.

as they ran up the

beautiful catsup red flag

93 thieves wept in the

purple dust.

the 5th is like an

ant in a breakfastnook full of

swaggersticks and

june bugs

sucking

dawn’s orange juice coming.

and I took the 3 bottletops from my

mother and

ate them

wrapped in pages from

Cosmopolitan

magazine.

but I am tired of the

5th

and I told this to a woman in

Ohio once. I

had just packed coal up 3 flights

of stairs

I was drunk and

dizzy, and she said:

how can you say you don’t care

for something greater than you’ll

ever be?

and I said:

that’s easy.

and she sat in a green chair and

I sat in a red chair

and after that

we never made love

again.

103 degrees

she cut my toenails the night before,

and in the morning she said, “I think I’ll

just lay here all day.”

which meant she wasn’t going to work.

she was at my apartment—which meant another

day and another night.

she was a good person

but she had just told me that she wanted to

have a child, wanted marriage, and

it was 103 degrees outside.

when I thought of another child and

another marriage

I really began to feel bad.

I had resigned myself to dying alone

in a small room—

now she was trying to reshape my master plan.

besides she always slammed my car door too loud

and ate with her head too close to the table.

this day we had gone to the post office, a department

store and then to a sandwich place for lunch.

I already felt married. driving back in I almost

ran into a Cadillac.

“let’s get drunk,” I said.

“no, no,” she answered, “it’s too early.”

and then she slammed the car door.

it was still 103 degrees.

when I opened my mail I found my auto insurance

company wanted $76 more.

suddenly she ran into the room and screamed, “LOOK, I’M

TURNING RED! ALL BLOTCHY! WHAT’LL I DO!”

“take a bath,” I told her.

I dialed the insurance company