To Natalie, who inspired the title and Patti, who inspired me ... and everyone else who appears in these stories and in me, in some way, to this very day ...

Underwear Woman Digs the Sea

(These Are Some Travel Stories!)

by Jeff Glovsky



In San Francisco…Spinning round the Metronome. I’ve no idea…

I walked to meet her here, from Geary. Walked with map, the vaguest notion…Even that’s all over now! Head spinning, feel up for blood…There’s none.

There’s just black lumps and pride.

Bus to Anaheim


The park breaks Piggett Drive at Bentley.  Who says you can’t walk out here?

Officially annoying now, though:  Traipsing - sad, soft calves aflame - down endless, palm-framed, block-long miles.  Buses floating past me as I drift…An island in this stream of traffic noise and children screaming.

Left Coastin' (Some LA Scenes)


"I think it’s something interesting to talk to you," she says to me. "Tu pinga es muy linda,” she states later, as she’s shaking it.

Occurs to me I haven’t had a virgin for a while.

She states dreamily, "I have to concentrate, and I am sleeping now. This thing needs time!" She tries to drift her hand away, but I replace it with my own… Begin, up-down, the necessary doings that I'm used to …

The Venezuelan Dairy Case

Ripe, Delicious

unfinished, 2004

I like to think about ‘delicious’…

Taste her squirming, nighttime, on that park bench, midtown Broadway.  Like her spice sweet happy smile, bright young laughing, birdlike eyes and hair all wild, like a porno morning after, or a teenager.

She’s 21.  I like her like I’ve never felt before…We like communicating.  That’s delicious…

More than just three fingers and a blowjob, more than lust and wanting…Long to spend soft time with sweet Melissa, not just in her.


Read (Delicious)

inspired, 20012

I like to think about delicious

Thinking as I’m going down, the elevator, from my floor:  Delicious … What’s ‘delicious’? asking, in this day and age, or still?

Red apples?  Full of chemicals!  Hot coffee?  Pours straight through me these days … Thinking, What’s the taste which smacks like gum across my teeth and tongue, and momentary lapses reason … ?

Traipsing out my building in the rush hour.  Disgusting morning traffic blood-clot pounding there.  Delicious


"Can not help it, I love the way you write. Its vivid." - Mag F.

Standing like stone at Prytania and Terpsichore…Wishing they’d won that Civil War. The City That Care Forgot, some say. Infusions are needed…

Of cash, and self-worth.

In New Orleans, they dance to Koko Taylor.  Sit out on their civil porches, naked, flood their war-torn streets...


South Rise

It’s usually the cutie-pies who get me: The smiling-with-tongues-leaking-out-of-their-teeth ones; the gap-toothed-and-sunny-eyed dollop of heat ones…the sweet ones…the sad-eyed and vulnerable, meek ones…

Though sometimes a freak ends up having to do.


Hung Hannah


Tap Tap go my teeth as I gawk in the mirror. I tap them: They’re hard, sort of white…One is broken. I see skin cascade from my bones like a faucet. A walrus bulldog-looking, blank apparition…

There is nothing behind the grey teeth, walrus laughing…The dull, bulldog skin dripping udder-like, down. There is madness. Unrest. Discontentment. Starvation.

I go out, and sunlight insults me, offends.

> > >


I don’t know anymore how to do it. Can’t seem to sit down and write some things…

The worst is that the vibe seems gone! Don’t want to put a pen to paper…Want to write a thought or two, or feeling.

I just sit and stare.

Blank ignorance, can’t even think…Just mumble in my jumbled half-awake state, numb, not even dreaming.

> > >

"Wolf, howling nighttime,

prowled the Upper West, growling

and swearing to himself."

The Dutch roll out of bed like we do. Stuffy, they’ll throw wide their windows; chilled, then just their curtains, let some light in. In their red bathrobes…

They don’t have any shame, these Dutch!  Red bathrobes, or red window dressings…


Dumb Monsters

Someday, I’ll find Carmen Aragon again. I feel it.

First, I’ll have to rid myself of Ruth. And Carmen must lose David … or Da-Veed, as she’d pronounced it. Soft. All shy, in fact.


In Carmen Aragon Again

all writing on this page is original

WordSpeakLong reads and

Short Stories

by Jeff Glovsky

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