William Burroughs

Poetry by William Burroughs
Where Flesh Circulates Continue reading
Its so hard to remember in the world – – Weren’t you there? Dead so you
think of ports – – Couldn’t reach flesh – – Might have to reach flesh from
anybody – –
Cold Lost Marbles Continue reading
my ice skates on a wall
lustre of stumps washes his lavender horizon
he’s got a handsome face of a lousy kid
rooming-houses dirty fingers
whistled in the shadow
“Wait for me at the detour.”