Donn Pearce (born 1928) is an American author best known for the novel and screenplay Cool Hand Luke.
Born Donald Mills Pearce in a suburb of Philadelphia, Pearce left home at 15. He attempted to join the United States Merchant Marine at 16, but was turned away due to his age. He lied about his age, registered for the draft, and was inducted into the United States Army in 1944. Frustrated by rules he considered unnecessary, he went AWOL, then three days later thought better of it and turned himself in to a Navy shore patrolman. His sentence was 30 days in the stockade. He served three days of his sentence, then was transferred to a combat infantry unit. Anticipating being sent to the front (this was during WWII), he wrote his mother a letter. She contacted the Army, informed them of his true age, and he was thrown out of the Army. By this time, he was old enough to join the Merchant Marine.
The Merchant Marine took him to Venice when he was 18, to Spain, Denmark, France, Portugal and Bombay. Post-war Europe had a thriving black market, and Pearce became involved in counterfeiting American money. He attempted to pass some counterfeit bills to a police officer in Marseilles, and was arrested, tried, and sent to prison. Assigned to a work detail outside the prison grounds, Pearce escaped, making his way to the Italian border. The French officials had taken his seaman's papers, so he forged new ones and signed on a ship to Canada. He crossed from Canada into the United States, where he began a new career - burglary.
in front of a newborn moon pushing out its glistening
dome
i kiss these departing companions, take the next step
alone
i've just said goodnight to the closest thing I have to
home
oh and the night grows sharp and hollow as a junkie's
craving vain
and I don't feel your touch again
to be held in the heart of a friend is to be a king
but the magic of a lovers touch is what makes my spirit
sing
when you're caught up in this longing all the beauties of
the earth don't mean a thing
oh and the night grows clear and empty as a lake of acid
rain
and I don't feel your touch again.
the last light of day crept away like a drunkard after
a hint of chanted prayer now whispers from the fresh
night wind
to this shattered heart and soul, held together by habit
and skin
and to this half-gnawed bone of apprehension buried in my
brain