a certain pride here

I don’t care to have my writing
praised too much:
it’s dangerous to the writing and
to me.

writing is what one does,
it’s like a spider spinning its
web.
you do what you have
to do.

yet, regarding praise, I sometimes
weaken,
say when they write me
from the prisons that they
like my crap.
or I like it better yet
when they write me
from the madhouses that they
like my crap.

the bit I liked best, though,
was when a
madam of a Nevada whorehouse
wrote me
that she and the girls
liked my crap

and anytime
I came up there
I could have all of it I wanted
for free.

that beats
any clippings I might have
from the N.Y. Times

hands
down.

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