The weight: after writing all night.
Poets are wanted for what they"re not.
The rescue performed in my imagination January 1972.
To the young poets, except children, who haven't earmned the title but call themselves poets anyway.
After writing all night and into the day, I go into the refrigerator for another beer and see a young girl through the kitchen window, walking by.
Today is my 33rd birthday.
A play in one act: Johnnie learns to be cretive in a junior high school audio visual class, or, Where are the creative arts in public schools?
Poem I typed on an Associated Press teletype.
An homage: the end of some more land.
Breakfast table after writing all night September 16, 1972.
Poem written with my son's pen.
For Norma "right now". . == For Norma "You'r home no".
For my son Saroyan "My suntanned sone of six".