Richard Brautigan – The San Francisco Weather Report
Tag Archives: artă poetică
charleston farmhouse door
henry’s nose pressed it open
that solid door
light spread on frescoes
and stencils a plaster canvas
to an artists heart,
inside heavy paws
trod carefully
hazel eyes saw much,
virginia talking to E.M
flashbulb pop
of camera indulgence,
smoke swirled in wisps,
that kissed many brows
and lips,
laying still on the cool
floor
henry knew
this place was special
as where those who walked
and would as ghosts
in time to come.
bourbon flavored font’s
two glasses unwashed
sat upended fragile in their shine,
opened bourbon
a long mouthful held then swallowed
his bourbon her breakfast,
moving from one room to another
morning cool on skin
she wore only panties,
typewriter on oak
bold keys hold promise
again it was his
the cat shared moved onto lap
as sitting down,
chatter of keys as poetry flowed,
to him she was a disposable muse,
she did not care
being on all fours
fucked from behind
staring at cotton bed linen
her mind could think
without his face ,
all he needed was the mirror to pose,
weave of cotton held a story
as she thought of next poem
he too had release,
it was a kind of love,
they used each other in
different ways
ink stained finger pedigree
kiss and whisper in her ear
hair dyed nocturnal sheen,
this clown without sanity
also had no morality,
for him love was the crazy light
of all dead angels,
his heart navigated slums of heaven,
babylon a drink to satisfy
and of those there where many,
at the door watched as she
burned on the brazier of sweetness,
leaving behind
he would go now and
make seven nymphs homeless,
in his mind words dwell,
a mirrors reflection
shows glance of vain apathy
downstairs and out
he went walking brisk
on soft sprung sidewalk,
there will come a last day
where pages no longer speak,
she was far behind
no turning back,
sorrow clung to his own breasts form
blood of his lust drained
pausing to turn into the bar
instead of heading home
will wait on tonight
velvetmedia 