Beerspit Night and Cursing

Los Angeles, Fire in the Balcony

JadeJune [8] '60

Dear Sheri Martinelli:

Holey possible there is no thump in my poems, and, in me. A degrading and disgusting position, eternally reproved by the gods for not saying enough or well enough or their way. Christ, I have read your classics, I have wasted a life in libraries, turning pages, looking for blood. It seems to me that there has not been enough garbage dumped, the pages do not scream; always the effected dignity and know-all and dry page sunburned and listless as wheat.

By the way, must all you so-called modems use i i i i and no caps? this was effective once but is now simply a hollowdrag.

Pound? Part of Pound was all right, of course, but much circus and blather, maestro maestro throwing spagetwopchink and rolling with the punch, effect of doing, appears walking straight while lying down. I don't have whiskers, I brush my teeth, but do not obey Chinese commands, I obey my commands and hate cops because most of them are young and wear black and carry clubs and guns and wiggl ... read full excerpt from: Beerspit Night and Cursing ebook