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Riddle: Only one color, but not one size, Stuck at the bottom, yet easily flies. Present in sun, but not in rain, Doing no harm, and feeling no pain...

Riddle: I cannot be felt, seen or touched; Yet I can be found in everybody; My existence is always in debate; Yet I have my own style of music. What..

Riddle: There is a common English word that is nine letters long. Each time you remove a letter from it, it still remains an English word - from nine..

Riddle: A boy was at a carnival and went to a booth where a man said to the boy, "If I write your exact weight on this piece of paper then you have..

lonely as a dry and used orchardspread over the earthfor use and surrender.shot down like an ex-pug sellingdailies on the corner.taken by tears..

the vultures at the zoo(all three of them)sit very quietly in theircaged treeand belowon the groundare chunks of rotten meat.the vultures are..

I am in this low-slung sports carpainted a deep, rich yellowdriving under an Italian sun.I have a British accent.I'm wearing dark shadesan expensive..

self-congratulatory nonsense as thefamous gather to applaud their seeminggreatnessyouwonder wherethe real ones arewhatgiant cavehides themasthe..

I read that he lost a suitcase full of manuscripts on atrain and that they never were recovered.I can't match the agony of thisbut the other night I..

I laugh sometimes when I think aboutsayCéline at a typewriteror Dostoevsky...or Hamsun...ordinary men with feet, ears, eyes,ordinary men with hair on..

god I got the sad blue blues

the German hotel was very strange and expensive and haddouble doors to the rooms, very thick doors, and it over-looked the park and the vasser tern..

majestic, majicinfinitemy little girl issunon the carpet-out the doorpicking a flower, ha!an old man,battle-wrecked,emerges from hischairand she..

out of the arm of one loveand into the arms of anotherI have been saved from dying on the crossby a lady who smokes potwrites songs and storiesand is..

I sit here on the 2nd floorhunched over in yellowpajamasstill pretending to bea writer.some damned gall,at 71,my brain cells eatenaway bylife.rows of..

in the hospitals and jailsit's the worstin madhousesit's the worstin penthousesit's the worstin skid row flophousesit's the worstat poetry readingsat..

we have everything and we have nothingand some men do it in churchesand some men do it by tearing butterfliesin halfand some men do it in Palm..

hooray say the roses, today is blamesdayand we are red as blood.hooray say the roses, today is Wednesdayand we bloom wher soldiers felland lovers..

it sits outside my window nowlike and old woman going to market;it sits and watches me,it sweats nevouslythrough wire and fog and dog-barkuntil..

they found him walking along the freewayall red infronthe had taken a rusty tin canand cut off his sexualmachineryas if to say --see what you've done..

these things that we support most wellhave nothing to do with up,and we do with themout of boredom or fear or moneyor cracked intelligence;our circle..

I have just spent one-hour-and-a-halfhandicapping tomorrow'scard.when am I going to get at the poems?well, they'll just have to waitthey'll have to..

a woman, atire that’s flat, adisease, adesire: fears in front of you,fears that hold so stillyou can study themlike pieces on achessboard…it’s not..

I was always a natural slobI liked to lay upon the bedin undershirt (stained, ofcourse) (and with cigaretteholes)shoes offbeerbottle in handtrying to..

I took my girlfriend to your last poetry reading,she said.yes, yes? I asked.she's young and pretty, she said.and? I asked.she hated yourguts.