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Poem	I was fairly drunk when it began and I took out my bottle and used it along the way. I was reading a week or two after Kandel and I did not look quite as pretty but I brought it off and we ended up at the Webbs, 6, 8, 10 of us, and I drank scotch, wine, beer, tequila and noticed a nice one sitting next to me - one tooth missing when she smiled, lovely, and I put my arm around her and began loading her with bullshit. when I awakened at 10 a.m. the next morning I was in a strange house in bed with this woman. she was asleep but looked familiar. I got up and here was one kid running around in a crib and another one running around the floor in pajamas. I picked up a letter addressed to one "Betsy R.", so I went back and said, "hey, Betsy, there are kids running around all over this place." "oh Hank, damn it, I'm sick. I want to sleep, not rap." "but look, the ..." "make yourself some coffee." I put the pot on and the little boy ran up in his pajamas. I found a shirt and some pants and some shoes and dressed him. then I cleaned a bottle with hot water, filled it with milk and gave it to the kid in the crib. he went for it. then I went in and squeezed her hand. "I've got to go. are you all right ?" "yes, a little sick. but please don't feel bad." I called a yellow cab and we went back across town. is this what happened to D. Thomas ? I thought. if a man didn't think too much he could be proud of his little conquests - except that the women were better than we - asking nothing as we squirted our poetry our bullshit our sperm to them. we were sick poets sick people. across town I knocked on the door of my host and hostess. "what happened ?" they asked. "nothing. got lost." they sat a beer in front of me and I drank it as if I were wordly: a piece-of-ass any-night anywhere type. "somebody got a cigarette ?" I asked. "sure, sure." I lit up and asked, "heard from Creely lately ?" not giving a damn whether they had or not.
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